The Secret Journal of Kensi Blye
by Maxie Kay
Summary: There are some things that must always remain hidden. Kensi's journal is where these secrets lie and where she reveals what she really thinks on a case-by-case basis. Contains 'missing scene' inserts and epilogues showing what happened next.
1. Chapter 1

**The Secret Journal of Kensi Blye**

An NCIS:Los Angeles Fanfiction

by

Maxie Kay

You just know it's going to be a bad day when it starts off with a dead Marine. If only I'd known that was going to be the least of my problems, I would have been singing and dancing. That was the day it all started, when a guy called Marty Deeks walked into my life and started to bug me. And he hasn't stopped since. That man can get underneath my skin like nobody else can, and I've been trying to make sense of it ever since. And so far, I've failed – completely and utterly. So I decided to go back and read my journal, right from the very first day I met him. If I know Deeks – and believe me, I know him – he's already tried to break through all the encryption codes. But he's dead in the water without Eric's help – and Eric knows I'd kill him if he ever tells anyone the key, so I reckon I'm safe.

I've been keeping a journal for years – not a diary, because that's what teenagers do – this journal is the considered reflection of a mature, stunning attractive, intelligent woman who can kick butt. To be honest, most of the early years were pretty dull (especially the last few months I spent with Jack. There's only so much you can say about a man who sits in silence for most of the time, after all). But everything changed when Deeks appeared. Life with Deeks is never dull – it's weird but it's not dull. Of course, he wasn't called Deeks when I first met him, back then he was going by the name of Jason Wyler. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The journal entries speak for themselves. You can see how utterly frustrating the man is and how he drives me to absolute distraction. And why I can't work out what on earth I'm going to do about him.

And it shouldn't be this hard. I'm Kensi Marie Blye, NCIS Special Agent and he's my partner. For better or for worse, we rely on each other. So why can't I work out what's going on?

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, June 4, 2010<br>Hand to Hand, Day One.**

Today started with a dead Marine, only this one was really gross. He'd bled out, and not from a belly wound or normal anything like that. No, this one had bled from his eyes, ears, mouth and nose, like he was in some horror movie. And in this alley behind 420, the hottest club in LA right now.. I'll never feel quite the same about going there again, even if they do have the best DJ in town. Of course, Sam and Callen hadn't heard of it, but then they are over forty. Remind me never to take them there. They just don't get it sometimes.

At the time, I was relieved that they were going to get to paddle around in Daniel Zuna's blood, especially after Hetty casually mentioned that there might be a bio-hazard risk. Talk about wanting to give that assignment a body-swerve. Haemorrhagic fever has never been on my 'to do', funnily enough – mainly because it would then be a bucket list. Callen looked kind of queasy when she said that, kind of the way he looks if I've been driving. I don't get to drive much when I'm with him, which is strange, because I aced those courses on aggressive driving and tactical manoeuvring.

Anyway, with Sam and Callen going to the scene of the crime, that meant that I had to go to this gym where the victim used to train. It went by the subtle name of "The Blood and Guts Warriors", in a _Guns 'N' Roses_ type of font. These two things will tell you pretty much everything you need to know about the place. Of course, there wasn't a single woman in the place except me and the whiff of testosterone just about knocked me over. Honestly, men are so predictable, they see even a moderately attractive woman in tight jeans and a skimpy top with her bra straps showing and you could sell them the Brooklyn Bridge. They see me dressed like that, and with my hair in those loose, bed-head waves and their tongues were just about hanging out. Which is why I love this job so much – the feeling of power it gives me, just watching them standing there practically panting. Men are such idiots. All they think about is sex.

So, there I was, being poor grieving Tracy (after Katherine Hepburn, in _The Philadelphia Story_, of course) and they were just lapping it all up. Well, almost all of them. Everyone except this one guy, Jason Wyler. He just stood there, chewing away on his gum and I could tell he wasn't buying my story about being Daniel's bereaved girlfriend for one instant. God, he was so rude and that pissed me off. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was the hottest guy there or that he wasn't falling over himself to be nice to me – it had absolutely nothing to do with that at all. He just pissed me off. One of the guys actually apologised to me afterwards. He said that Wyler was 'wound up tight'. I'd like to help him unwind, oh yes I would. I'd have him so relaxed he'd just be lying there like he was half-way to heaven. But I didn't get anything of much substance from any of them – other than a whole lot more attitude from Wyler. I could have slapped him – but I thought he'd probably like that, so I didn't give him the satisfaction. Who does that guy think he is? He's not that good looking. I mean, you walk down just about any street in LA and you're going to see at least a dozen guys with shaggy blond hair, big blue eyes, buff bodies and those tans that make them look as if they've been rolling around in molten honey. He's absolutely nothing special. I hardly even noticed him, if you want the truth. He'd look a whole lot better if he shaved though. Not that I noticed his stubble – it barely even registered.

Which is why it was really annoying that Sam and Callen seemed to think I had this 'thing' for him. We were looking through the photos of the various members of the Warriors, plus Wyler, who's a sort of wannabe Warrior (oh, and he could be anything he wanted to be with me) and they tried to make out that I was staring at his photo. Well, I was, but only because I'd never actually seen a driving license photo that didn't make you look like you were intellectually challenged. It was probably the best photo in the history of driving licenses, with him staring at the camera and looking all mean and moody, but kind of cute at the same time. The guy clearly has an attitude problem.

I tried to tell them that there was something about Wyler that was setting off a warning bell, but would they listen? Of course not. They're men, after all, and men have to reduce everything down to the level of sex. So Callen went on about his 'baby blues' (and actually, Wyler's eyes are more like the blue of the ocean in early morning) while Sam made these disparaging remarks about his 'fluffy hair'. He was clearly jealous, as Wyler had great hair, while Sam is follicly challenged (aka bald as a coot). Sometimes I wish there was another woman on the team. I knew it was a mistake to drink tequila with Callen and Sam last week and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have confessed that I've always had this thing for surfer dudes. (Did I mention that Wyler looks like he surfs? And if he doesn't, then he should go out and learn. The thought of him in a wetsuit makes my toes curl up.)

Well, you would have thought that things couldn't get much worse. They did, of course: they got a whole lot worse. Callen and I went over to Zuna's place, and who should walk in but Jason Wyler. Go figure. I was beginning to get the sense that Jason Wyler was going to play a big part in this case and that suited me just fine. If he tried to escape, I'd get him in an arm lock and the force him down to the ground and sit on his butt, just for good measure. Wyler has the best butt and he looked quite different in clothes – street clothes, I mean. Because it's not that I've been fantasising about him in that wetsuit. Or even out of that wetsuit. Anyway, like I said, he looked different – sort of leaner, if that makes sense. He has the longest legs and I wonder how he gets jeans that are long enough. Not that I'm complaining, because his jeans fitted just fine. Believe me on that one. They fitted like a dream. I'll be dreaming of him in those jeans tonight.

Wyler is sharp – I've got to give him that. Sharp and hot. He didn't buy my story for a second, although he did look mildly interested when I mentioned I'd been sending my dear, dead boyfriend, Daniel Zuna, naked photos of myself. As if! Zuna was so not my type. But then I saw the gun Wyler had tucked into the back of his jeans, and I knew he was trouble. Trouble with a capital 'T'. So I switched to my back-up story – which was drugs. Basically, nine times out of ten it's going to be drugs or guns, so it was a pretty safe bet. And Wyler doesn't look like a gun dealer, even if he as packing a Beretta. I know this because when we were talking, I took the opportunity to stare long and hard into his eyes. You can tell a lot about a man from his eyes and I can you tell you this: Jason Wyler has nice eyes. They've got these crease lines around them, like he smiles a lot – only he wasn't smiling. He was just looking at me, like he could see right through me. I was trying my best, trying to flirt my way out of it, but before anything could happen, good old Callen came to the rescue. So now I'll never know. Because when a woman looks like a man like that, he's supposed to kiss her. So why didn't Wyler kiss me? Maybe he's gay?

Stop Press. Jason Wyler isn't Jason Wyler. Jason Wyler doesn't exist – except for that driving license there's no trace of him. I knew that photograph was too good to be true. Nobody looks that good in those photos. I mentioned that I thought he was still a prime suspect and of course Sam and Callen had to pick up on that. Sam cracked this lame joke about me being 'stuck' on Wyler and Callen had to go one better. There are days when I really wish there was another woman on the team, for a little solidarity. I don't count Hetty because there is no way that even Callen would tell Hetty that she was 'stuck, smitten – whatever' on this random guy that she hardly even noticed. And the only reason I was looking so carefully at that fake driving license was because it gave his height as 5' 11" and I would swear he's at least 6' 2". Which means I could wear really high heels and he'd still be taller than me.

So that piece of news means that we're down to one option: we've got to get close to the 'Warriors' and Sam's going to try to fight his way into the team. More precisely, he's got to fight Wyler and I can't wait. I'm going to be ringside tonight and I'm really going to enjoy seeing Sam pound him into the ground. That should knock that cocky smile off his face. I just hope Sam doesn't hurt him too much, because he's kind of cute. If you like that sort of thing.

* * *

><p><em>Stay tuned for more excerts from Kensi's journal, on a case-by-case basis.<em>


	2. Hand to hand, Part II

Callen is worried about how Sam's going to cope with the fight. I'm not, because Sam's a heck of a lot bigger than Wyler (or whoever the hell he is) I just hope Sam doesn't beat that pretty face of Wyler's into a pulp. According to Callen (who is suddenly an expert on MMA fights) Wyler's going to want to grapple and get Sam onto the ground. Now, that's an interesting concept and it makes me wonder if it's too late to volunteer to swap places with him. Because I really like the idea of rolling around the floor with Wyler.

Anyway, Sam's cover is that he's from Raleigh, North Carolina, which sits kind of oddly with his blatant New York accent, but there you go. I guess the Warriors have been hit too many times in the head to think about little details like that. It turns out that MMA is a fancy name for cage fighting: in other words two guys are stuck in a cage, and then they beat the hell out of each other. Homoerotic undertones or what? Whatever turns you on, I suppose. Actually, it kind of works for me – but then that might be because I kind of want to see Sam hit Wyler hard – just no too hard. So I strut around, mingling with the crowd, looking all sultry in black leather.

Like I said, I was looking forward to seeing Sam smack Wyler about, but he was right in there from the start, punching Sam like there was no tomorrow. It turns out Wyler's actually a decent enough fighter, with 15 knock outs to his credit – but he's not as good as Sam.

As Callen predicted, Sam was holding back – but only just. He was also hitting Wyler pretty hard. Eventually, he was spiked to the ground and the next thing I know, the pair of them are grappling and punching each other. Wyler won't give up and for some reason I feel like cheering him on. By this stage, Sam doesn't even attempt to pull his punches: he's fighting hard and fast and it's getting exciting, because every time Sam thinks he's got Wyler, the guy just bounces back up. It takes a whole volley of moves by Sam to finally end everything, and even then the referee actually has to physically restrain him, because Sam's kind of lost it. So much for all Callen's worries. At one point I was getting seriously worried and it's only when Wyler eventually gets back up onto his feet that I start to breath again. So I've got kind of a thing for the underdog? That doesn't mean I like Wyler.

That should have been the end of it. Wyler lost the bout and he should have faded out of the picture, because now Sam was into the Warriors. Wyler should have just disappeared into the background. But this is Wyler we're talking about, and he's obviously pretty dumb. Sorry, I mean that Wyler is pretty, but he's also dumb. Because what does he do after getting knocked out by Sam? He hangs around outside and then picks a fight, while I'm sitting watching in the car. This guy must have a serious death-wish, because Sam throws this punch that first catches Wyler right on the cheekbone and then sends him flying. Wyler's got great cheekbones – I reckon there's some Nordic heritage going on there, what with the bone structure, the hair and the eyes – he's got this whole sort of Viking vibe about him. I wonder what he'd look like in a helmet and some sort of skimpy tunic?

Roughly ten seconds after Sam knocks Wyler onto that cute ass of his, LAPD coming screaming up with lights and sirens – the whole works – and arrest both of them. Great. All this work and it looks like our operation is going to be blown by some pretty boy who just got his ass whipped. It's funny how quickly you can go off people.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 5<strong>**th**** July 2010.  
>Hand to Hand, Day Two<strong>

Oh. My. God.

Jason Wyler is actually Marty Deeks: Detective Marty Deeks to be precise, of none other than LAPD. As Hetty would say 'ain't that a kick in the head'? Actually, judging by the way Sam takes that piece of news, it feels more like a kick in the balls. Sam is not a happy bunny and neither is Callen. I think both of them are taking it personally, like their masculinity has been compromised. Me, I'm fine about the whole thing. It wasn't so great lusting after some petty criminal, but a detective suits me just fine.

So, there we are, all sitting around the table in the boathouse, pretending to play nicely and fooling nobody. We've all been up all night and we're all tired. I'm still in my black leather and looking cool (but hot at the same time), but Sam and Callen are seriously pissed off and they don't bother to even attempt to hide that fact. And although it's three against one, Deeks isn't bothered. Doesn't he know he's supposed to be intimidated? I'd be intimidated if I was him, but he's sitting there, just staring at me. I think he likes me. And I don't think he likes Callen and Sam. Now, I can't blame Deeks for liking me, because that just shows he's got good taste. And I can't blame him for not liking Sam, because he's moving pretty carefully, like Sam got in a one too many punches to the kidneys. Or maybe his back's sore from being thrown to the ground. I could help him with that, because I give a pretty mean massage. Of course, Deeks would have to strip right down to his tightie-whities first of all. Exactly why am I thinking about his underwear? And what sort of a name is Deeks anyway?

After a while, Deeks starts laying into us, going on about how easy we have it, while he's out there on his own, while we've got all this fancy technology and cool hardware. It's actually pretty funny, because he nails it, especially when he says that we've probably got some guy with a keyboard typing in the logistics for us. Eric is so not going to like that. But there's a subtext there, and I can read it, because I can read Deeks like a book. I know exactly what he's saying and what he's not saying. He's jealous – because we're a team, we've got each other – and he's got no-one. And I think he's jealous because Callen and Sam get to work with me. But he gives as good as he gets, I'll give him that. Deeks just sits there, eyeballing us and making smart remarks and the only giveaway is that he's got his arms crossed, in an ultra-defensive posture. He's not as confident as he wants us to think: quite the reverse. All joking apart, from what he says, Deeks is in there all aloe, without any back-up or support. The guy is either crazy or incredibly brave. Or maybe both.

And then Deeks starts flirting with me, right there, in front of everyone. As if I'd be interested. Who does he think I am? Can Deeks honestly imagine I'd be so shallow to fall for him, just because he's got the bod from God, a pretty face and a cute way about him. And great hair. Did I mention his hair? It's seriously good – thick and blond and wavy, the kind of hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it. The kind of hair that looks like he's just got out of bed. I bet he sleeps naked.

Anyway, it's three against one, but Deeks just sits there and looks smug and defensive at the same time, which is no mean feet. I wish Sam would smack that smug look right off his face. If someone doesn't do something to wipe that smirk off his face I'm just going to have to lean across the table and kiss him. That would teach him.

Just as I'm about to do something I definitely won't regret (because LA's a big city, and what are the chances I'll ever see Deeks again?) Hetty walks in and announces that this is now a joint NCIS/LAPD operation. Oh joy. Oh rapture. Callen and Sam both look like they're going to be sick. I could swear Deeks pouts when he hears that. Who ever heard of a grown man pouting?

Well, it doesn't quite work out like that, because it turns out that it's NCIS doing all the hard work and pulling the case together, while Deeksjust swans off somewhere. He's probably working on his tan, or something like that. I wonder if it's an all-over tan? I could just see him sunbathing nude. (I wish I could see him sunbathing nude. I really do.) And after hours of work, just when we think we've made a major break-through and go to arrest a suspect, who should turn up? Yup, none other than LAPD's very own answer to Malibu Ken. And then Deeks practically throws his toys out of the pram when Callen basically tells him to butt out because we're taking him in for questioning.

Deeks recovers quickly, I'll give him that. He fires off this quick response about 'your place or mine?' and he's looking at me. He's definitely flirting with me again – isn't he? Well, I'm not going to give Deeks the satisfaction of thinking I'm easy, so I just smile sweetly and say 'Thank you – for everything'. Which actually amounts to nothing, because he's done zero for the case and Deeks knows that. He blinks a couple of times and then just says 'What? No hug?' And I know it's a throw-away remark, that it doesn't mean anything – but I'm tempted. I'm seriously tempted. I want to run over to him and then I want him to pick me up and stride off into the sunset with me in his arms… And I've got to stop watching _An Officer And A Gentleman_, because this is real life and this is Deeks and I don't feel anything for him, nothing at all except some misplaced lust. Like I said, it's nothing that a cold shower won't sort out.

* * *

><p>Turns out we were wrong about that suspect. It happens - occasionally. Even we're not infallible. Not all of the time, anyway. But this time we're wrong, and in the worst possible way, because Sam's walked straight into a trap – he's at the gym, and his cover is blown and he's going to get himself killed. I knew that lack of a southern accent would let him down, but would they listen to me? No, because Sam and Callen are the dream team, and I'm the junior agent. The junior <span>female<span> agent, who is currently without a partner. And it looks like we're just going to have to watch all this go down, watch Sam get killed by the Warriors, because we're too far away to get there in time – we're stuck here in the Mission and Sam is miles away. He must know it's hopeless, but he never lets on. Except for when Deeks comes running up the stairs, making some smart remark and buying Sam just enough time to save his life. Just for a split second, I could see the look of relief in Sam's eyes, and I know he realises how close this one came to disaster.

Deeks comes through for us alright. He basically saves Sam's ass. He and Sam actually work pretty well together. Deeks fights dirty and he fights hard. It's kind of great watching them take down the remaining Warriors and even Callen has to admit that Deeks isn't a bad operator. I'll say. In fact, I'd say he's kind of a smooth operator

So that's it. The operation is over, we've got the bad guys, we've wrapped up the case. And that means it's 'goodbye Deeks'. And for some reason I feel like going home and watching something stupid like _Jerry Maguire_, because he had me. He had me and he never even knew it. And I'm never going to see him again. I think I'll pick up a couple of bottles of wine on the way home tonight. And I'll think of him and what we never had and how he means absolutely nothing to me. Although we could have had a whole lot of fun together – I think we could have made sparks fly. But I'll never know, because I'll never see him again. I need a drink. And I need to watch a movie that makes me cry.

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 6<strong>**th**** July, 2010.  
>Hand to Hand: Epilogue<strong>

I don't believe it. I really don't believe it. Hetty has just announced that Deeks is joining us as LAPD liaison. What was she thinking? What the hell was she thinking? In fact, was she even thinking? We don't need Deeks. We never needed Deeks. And I definitely don't need Deeks. I don't want him either. I wouldn't take him if he was gift-wrapped and left on my doorstep. Surely Hetty isn't as shallow as to be turned-on by his big blue eyes or his fluffy hair – is she? If she was thinking (which I seriously doubt), she wasn't thinking with her head, that's for sure. I swear, sometimes I don't know if I want to hug that woman or hit her.

All I can say is that Hetty had better not come up with any clever ideas like making me work with Deeks. Because that will never work. Not in a million years. Me and Deeks – you have to be joking.

I guess I'll find out what she has planned tomorrow morning. I wonder if it's too late to get an urgent appointment with my hairdresser tonight…


	3. Fame: Day 1

**Friday, 7****th**** July, 2010  
>Fame: Day 1<strong>

Well, this was a day I'm not about to forget in a hurry. The golden boy joined us today, LAPD's best and brightest hope – none other than Detective Marty Deeks. Be still my beating heart. Funnily enough though, it turns out that Deeks isn't exactly flavour of them month with the boys in blue either. What a surprise. But I'm getting ahead of myself…

I made sure I was in work super early this morning, mainly to make sure that I didn't have to take any more crap from Sam and Callen. I don't know where those guys get off saying that I have some sort of thing for Deeks. As if. Anyway, it turns out that Sam was too busy engaging in a playground battle with Deeks over where he was going to sit to even notice I wasn't around. It was like they were back in grade school, according to Callen, so much so that Hetty had to wade right into the middle, like she was the teacher and they were just two annoying little boys. I would have loved to see that – because I can just imagine how Deeks would have looked up at her, with those big, round blue eyes, all aggrieved innocence. He wouldn't have fooled me, not for one instant. I know exactly what he's about and I know he was never innocent. Anyway, I managed to miss all that because I was already upstairs in Ops, just hanging out with Eric.

Ah, Eric. I think he's got a bit of a thing for me too, quite honestly. As does Nate. But they're not my type, poor guys. I was just asking Eric if Deeks really was the best LAPD could do, when of course he walks in and hears that. Not the best timing on my part, I must admit, even if it was the truth. Luckily, I was wearing my red top, the one that is super tight, so Deeks actually took it quite well. See what I mean? How shallow is that? He even told me I was forgiven. And then he looked at me – looked right at me, almost as if he could see straight through me – or more likely straight through my top. I knew it was a good idea to put it on this morning, I just knew it. Yes, I was looking fine – all smooth, shiny hair and that top that makes my breasts look incredible. More incredible, I should say, because they are pretty phenomenal to start off with. Judging from the look on his face, Deeks thinks so too. He's not exactly subtle. He's a whole lot of things, but subtle is not one of them. See what I mean about being shallow? He's about as deep as a goldfish pond.

Anyway, I was forgiven – I think - and the briefing started. There's yet another dead Marine. Surprise, surprise. Sometimes I wonder how they can manage to recruit them fast enough, judging by the numbers that turn up dead in LA alone. This Marine was called Brian Roth, and he was last seen with one of the stalwarts on the LA party scene – a girl called Aubrey Darva. And of course Deeks turns out to have an encyclopedic knowledge of her and all the other pretty little airheads with trust funds and nothing better to do with their pointless lives but to hit the clubs, get mani-pedis and go shopping. Now, why doesn't that surprise me? I bet he gets all the gossip magazines – and those 'special interest' ones aimed at the men's market. Oh, he's shallow alright.

Well, it's about time for Deeks to start earning his keep. Surely he's got to be more than a pretty face with dubious taste in women (with the obvious exception of me. I'm the exception that proves the rule). So we go out to the crime scene – namely the spot where Aubrey's car did a swan dive over the cliff. I drive – naturally. I think Deeks was quite impressed by the way I handled the car. He certainly didn't talk much during the journey, which made a refreshing change. That man talks entirely too much.

Funnily enough, once we got there and saw LAPD swarming all over the place, Deeks didn't seem too keen to get out and do his thing – i.e. what he's getting paid to do. We don't just keep him around for his charming company and witty remarks, you know- even if he does fill out a pair of jeans insanely well. I didn't much care for his shirt though – it was a sort of darkish, purple-black with a vague checker effect and quite frankly, it clashed with my top. He's going to have to do better next time. I thought that Sam was going to pull him out of the car, but eventually he ambled over to the detectives with considerable reluctance, not until a dog that knows it's going to be given a bath and is none too keen about the prospect. Mmmm - Deeks in the bath. Now, there's an image to gladden a girl's heart… It certainly made mine beat a little bit faster and in an effort to cover my blushes I made this off-hand remark about how watching him made me feel like a mom dropping her kid off for his first day at school. That backfired big time and Callen and Sam gave me the most peculiar looks.

As luck would have it, Deeks no sooner got over to the detectives then he was sent packing, and came scuttling back with his tail firmly between his legs. His very long legs. Well, I had to help out, didn't I? For the good of the team and to make sure we got to take over this case. I had no other motive whatsoever. Why would I have? Of course, those two guys took one look at me and practically fell over themselves trying to help. Result! Well, you've either got it – or you haven't. I've got it – I've definitely got it. I almost felt sorry for Deeks. Almost – but not quite. Well, he's got to learn that he's playing with the big boys and girls right now and start to up his game.

It was almost as if he heard that thought, because Deeks actually started to contribute once we got down to examining the crime scene. He spotted Roth had this wrist stamp for _Balm_ – which is only the hottest new club in town and one I'd give my eye teeth to get into. Of course, he tried to make out that he knew all about it, like he was a regular or something. Poor guy – he's clearly delusional and it's quite sad really. We managed to link Aubrey to the crime-scene, mainly because I found her shoes, clutch and cell phone sitting in the car. Truth be told, it was actually quite hard to miss them. Deeks managed to find this little tiny scrap of material from her dress too, but as it was bright pink, I reckon it was only a matter of time before one of us would have spotted it. His hands do look good in our black latex gloves though. Insanely good. He has really nice hands, all sort of flexible and with long fingers and he gestures a lot. The thought of those hands, in those gloves roaming slowly over my body made me kind of lose concentration for a couple of minutes, which is probably why I didn't spot that scrap of material first. I guess he did okay, for a new guy. A temporary new guy, as Sam keeps reminding him. Callen's not so sure. He reckons that Deeks is here at Hetty's special request. I don't buy it. Hetty isn't stupid, so why would she do something like that? There is absolutely nothing special about Deeks. Nothing at all.

* * *

><p>It looks like we're going clubbing at <em>Balm<em> tonight – me, Callen and Deeks. You should have seen the way Deeks looked at me when that was announced. Like he thought he's got it made. As if. Who does he think he is? He's not my type – not in the slightest. And even if he was, I don't even like him all that much. He definitely likes me though – he even said that I was hot. Which is only the plain, honest truth after all, but at least it proves he's not completely dumb. According to Deeks, he and I will get in to _Balm_ without a problem, but the only way Callen will pass muster is with a hefty load of cash backing him up.

That does not go down well with Callen, who likes to think he's still got it, even if _Balm_ is a place for much younger, prettier people. However, Callen is good. He's also very sneaky and he turns the tables neatly on Deeks, and makes him go to Hetty begging for one of her infamous credit cards – the ultra-discrete ones, with the big balances on them. We sit back and prepare to enjoy the show, because this is going to be great. Hetty is going to chew Deeks up into little pieces and then spit them out neatly. I am so going to enjoy this and I've got a ringside seat into the bargain. Sometimes what started off as a really crappy turns out just great.

Well, while Callen is good – Deeks is better. He goes over to Hetty's desk, where she's sitting playing with that flick knife she likes to pretend is a letter opener. Most guys would take that a clear warning and retreat immediately, while their junk is still firmly attached. Not Deeks though. Oh no, not Deeks. I've got to hand it to him – he's got balls alright. Not that I've noticed.

Okay, I've noticed. Of course I have. You'd have to blind not to notice, especially in those jeans. Anyway, Deeks goes over to Hetty's office and sits there, kind of all hunched over, so that he's on eye-level with Hetty. Now, it's kind of dangerous to look Hetty directly in the eyes, because she can freeze you with just one glance – but this doesn't seem to bother him. Oh no, quite the reverse. Deeks sits there, and puts his hands together, almost like he's praying or something – which he is possibly is. And Hetty buys whatever line he is spinning. She buys it hook, line and sinker and Deeks comes back not only with a credit card, but with one that is good for $50,000 – which is $20,000 more than he asked for. Hetty must be ill. That's the only possible explanation for that. Because Deeks isn't that good – is he? The funny thing is that Hetty made him sign for it (possibly in blood) so now Deeks thinks he's actually standing guarantor for the whole amount. You've got to love her twisted sense of humour, even if her logic totally escapes me.

Anyway, Deeks is so smug when he comes back holding that card in his hot little hands. Actually, he does have incredibly hot hands. I'm beginning to think I might have a bit of a thing for his hands. The rest of him I can take or leave though. Especially when he smirks like that. Seemingly, all he had to do was to 'ask nicely'. Teacher's pet. What a complete suck-up. Obviously, he's lying. It probably turns out that his mother and Hetty are best friends or something like that, and she's trying to help the family out with this scruffy idiot that even LAPD don't want. Basically, I reckon that Deeks is like one of those dogs the animal shelters can't get anybody to take home with them, and now we've got temporary custody of him. It won't last though. He'll never make the grade. He probably can't even shoot straight.

Callen is super-pissed at this. He likes to think he's Hetty's favourite, and now it looks like Deeks has usurped him. Well, to be fair, Deeks is taller, and blonder and has much bluer eyes, so maybe Hetty is as fallible as the rest of us women? But Callen is not happy – he's a bit like a little kid who has his nose put out of joint when Mommy comes home with a new baby brother. Later on, this is all made very clear when Callen tells me that he had it out with Hetty – told her straight to her face that Deeks is a lousy liaison. And then went one step further and actually called her bluff by saying that he doesn't buy the whole story about Deeks being on temporary assignment, because he reckons Hetty doesn't want him as a liaison at all – she wants him as an agent. Does the guy have a death-wish or is he just looking to be reassigned somewhere? I think even Callen realised he'd gone too far, because Hetty just gave him one of her infamous looks and then handed him this completely hideous shiny suit to wear tonight. Hetty is evil – and she's devious. And on top of all that, suddenly she's gone completely mad. Why would she want Deeks? Why would anybody want Deeks? It just doesn't make any sense at all.

Well, I'm going to have to be on top form tonight. On tip-top form. Balm is the coolest place, so it only makes sense that I'm going to have to be super hot – smoking hot, in fact. Something short and revealing is called for, I think. That'll show Deeks exactly how hot I am and how he doesn't stand a chance with me. Even if he does have lovely hands. Everybody has to have at least one thing going for them, after all. Even Deeks. But I bet I'll have to save his sorry ass at some point tonight.

Actually, his ass isn't sorry at all – it's really rather great. Okay, so he's got a great butt and sexy hands – but that's it. Apart from the body, the hair, and those eyes and that insouciant attitude that just manages to do something to me, like waving a red rag to a bull. His mouth is quite kissable too. But I'm not attracted to him. Not at all. Come on – I'm Kensi Blye and he's… I don't know who he is. I don't know anything about Deeks, except that I can't stop thinking about him. Bugger. Why does life have to be so damned complicated all the time? Why couldn't we have just met in some random club one night, had a mad, passionate fling with mind-blowing sex and then gone our separate ways, never to meet again? That way I could have got him out of my head forever. I don't want Deeks in my life – I just want his body. That's all. It's just a purely sexual thing, nothing more. And I've got this awful feeling he knows that too. Bugger.

If anybody ever reads this journal, I will kill them. And that is a promise. But I've got to tell somebody about this, or I think I might just go mad.

* * *

><p><em>Part 2 will be coming soon...<em>


	4. Fame: Day 2, Part I

**Saturday 8 July, 2010  
>Fame: Day 2<strong>

Well, I pulled out all the stops, and I've got to say – I looked great. You can't go wrong with a little black dress – if you've got the figure to pull it off, of course. And I have. I've worked really hard to get this body, and I work even harder to keep it, so why should I be modest about it? Let's face it – there are women who would kill to have a body like mine. I should know, because I nearly killed myself to get. This particular dress was sweet, with a sheer black panel in the back and it was so short that it barely covered my crotch. I accessorised it with a pair of funky boots and pulled my hair back into a pony tail. Well, if you've got amazing bone structure, you want to show it off. And of course, my legs were on show – and I didn't bother with pantyhose. So, I had pretty much everything I've got out there. If you've got it, flaunt it – right? I even put the merest hint of glitter on my cleavage. Luckily, I've also got a killer attitude as well as a well-honed haughty pose that says 'you can look but you can't touch'. Callen was in that awful suit, so the less said about that, the better. He really has to learn how to say 'no' to Hetty sometimes. But still, his cover that he's a Russian called Ivan Kolvak, whose daddy is in the oil business, so clearly he has more money than taste.

Anyway, we arrive up at the club, only to discover that good old Deeks has failed - our names are not on the guest-list. I can just about see Callen's blood-pressure climbing. Why on earth did we ever think we could trust Deeks? I would have tried to charm the security guy, only he was obviously gay, and there was no way Callen was in a mood to turn on his charm, even if his favourite alias is the distinctly dubious-sounding 'Mr Carl'. Sometimes I wonder about him and Sam and exactly how far that bromance goes. Just when things are looking deperate, Deeks saunters out. He's not wearing the greatest outfit, but boy, do the bouncer's eyes light up. He greets Deeks like he's a very special friend, if you get my drift. He even pats Deeks in a very familiar way on the chest. Or was that more like a love-pat? I'm beginning to wonder about Deeks. He is awfully pretty, after all.

Of course, most gay guys have great dress sense – but Deeks is wearing a maroon shirt and a wool sweater. To a nightclub. In LA, in the middle of summer. He's also wearing wool pants, but they do cling to his butt in a rather delicious way, so I'm going to forgive him for those. And I only noticed that because he walked ahead of us, raising his hands up in the air, so I could hardly be blamed for looking at his butt. No sooner were we inside _Balm_ than this person called Sapphire came over. And then she was all over Deeks. Literally all over him. I immediately sensed there was something off about her, but then I'm not only highly trained, I've got kind of an innate sense when something is off. And something was definitely off with her. Deeks tried to brush it off by telling me that he'd been here undercover before, but that didn't fool me, not or one second. Of course he'd been under cover – under her covers, I'll bet. So maybe he's not gay after all – maybe he just swings both ways?

I made the mistake of saying that out loud. The bit about him getting under her covers, not about him being gay or even bi, obviously. Of course Deeks jumped on it right away, and told me that I was like a bull instead of a tiger – because I just went charging in there. I'm not quite sure if that was a compliment or not, but it was awfully interesting. I don't think Deeks realised quite how much he gave away with that one sentence. Talk about indicating what his subconscious is thinking. Which is clearly that Deeks thinks I'm a tiger, and that means he's been thinking about me sexually. I knew it. Who does Deeks think he is? And how dare he have sexual fantasies about me? I could have him up on a charge of harassment. He's definitely straight, that's for sure. No doubt about it. And anyway, where does he get off saying that I charge in bull-headed? That just shows how little he knows about me, because I'm very calm, level-headed and reliable.

Well, surprise surprise – we're hardly in the club when who should we see but Aubrey. It looks like our possible victim just became a suspect. And what better way to get a close to her than by invoking a little female solidarity? Funnily enough, that in turn involves Deeks hitting on me. Isn't it funny how things work out sometimes? Just before we swing into action he calmly informs me that he's going to call me Fern. Fern? What corner of his warped little mind did he conjure that from? He won't call me Fern. No way. Fern sounds like the sort of name a hooker would use – a fat, ugly hooker. I will kill him if he calls me Fern.

"Hey, Fern! Baby girl."

And Deeks is leaning in close, much too close. So close in fact that I could quite easily reach forward and kiss him so hard and so deep he'll wonder if he still has his tonsils. Alternatively, I'm close enough to thunk him in the junk. Choices, choices. I'm tempted, I really am seriously tempted. But of course, I'm a professional and I don't get easily distracted. My focus is always firmly on the game. Luckily for Deeks. Or unluckily, depending on how you look at it. So, I just jerk him off. Not literally, of course. We were in a public place, after all. But just wait till I get him alone, that's all I'm saying.

However, his brash attempts at chatting me up pay dividends – with Aubrey, who thinks he's a creep. Which is exactly what I wanted. I love it when a plan come together, and soon we were sitting chatting, like we were old friends. And I actually found myself liking her: she was sweet and genuine and seems to be trying to make something of her life. She knows that she's made mistakes and now she's trying to move on. You can't ask for more than that.

So, while we're bonding and practically vowing to be BFF in a quiet corner of the club, Callen is enjoying himself hugely downstairs, winding Deeks up a treat. I wish I'd been there to see it. Somehow, Callen manages to find out that Hetty has imposed a spending limit of five grand on the credit card – and told Deeks that he's liable for anything over and above that. So when Callen discovers that the champagne costs a thousand a bottle, he promptly orders another two. Okay, at the time I thought it was funny, and I still would have loved to have seen Deeks' face when Callen did that, but when I thought about it, I realised it was also kind of mean. And that's not like Callen – not like him at all. Usually he'll give people the benefit of the doubt and he only shoots them when he absolutely has to. Something about Deeks has rattled his cage badly. What is it about Deeks that he manages to stir up such strong feelings in all of us? Well, Callen and Sam at any rate. Personally, I'm completely indifferent to him. But something makes me think they feel threatened by Deeks, hence all the posturing to show him they're the alpha males. Is it because he's taller than Callen, has more hair than Sam or that he's taller than both of them? Or maybe it's all three? Honestly – men.

And then things started to go straight to hell in a hand-basket, just like they have a nasty habit of doing in this job. One minute Aubrey and I were sitting talking, and I was getting the distinct impression she was pretty innocent, and then the next thing I knew she was being grabbed by some goon. And as this went down, Callen was instructing me not to break cover, like he thought I was some probie, still wet behind the ears. I didn't need to be told that, and it kind of made me mad, and that had nothing to do with the fact that Deeks was also hearing every word, courtesy of our ear-wigs. I have that term, by the way. It always makes me think I'm putting some disgusting creepy-crawly into my ear.

Well, had I been given a choice (which I wasn't) there was nothing I would have liked better than just to stand back and watch things unfold. But when the guy started whacking Aubrey, I didn't have much of a choice. And when a second idiot tried to take me out, I definitely didn't have any choice at all. So I took him down, short and sweet, before he knew what was happening. I fished my handcuffs and my gun out of my boots (well, you've got to keep them somewhere, haven't you?) and all the time I was telling Callen and Deeks that I'd had to break cover and Aubrey was being taken down the south stairwell. And that was when things started to go really wrong. Really, really wrong. I knew that Callen had a problem with Deeks: I just didn't know how big a problem he had. But I was about to find out…

I went back down to the main floor, only to discover that Aubrey was being held at gunpoint, and that Callen was standing there, gun drawn and a look I'd never seen before in his eyes – a look that really scared me. Aubrey was between him and her captor, making it a tricky shot at best, but Deeks was right behind them both. Deeks had a clear shot. And Deeks had the advantage that the guy's attention was fully focused on Callen. There was no choice about it, but just to be sure, Deeks signalled to Callen. And Callen refused to let him take it. Right there and then Callen forgot everything he had ever learned. Worse than that, he deliberately endangered Aubrey. Deeks dropped to the floor in the split-second before Callen fired, but I knew that Callen would have fired his gun anyway.

It had been funny before, watching Sam and Callen try to mess with Deeks. It had seemed like the usual sort of hazing that went on all the time. But it wasn't funny anymore. It was a great shot, but that wasn't the point. Callen shouldn't have fired at all. You never take a risky shot when your team-mate has a safe shot. You never let your ego put a civilian at risk. And you never, ever deliberately endanger a colleague. Callen had fucked up big time. He knew it and I knew it. And Deeks definitely knew it.

What a mess. What a hell of a mess. I should be angry with Deeks, but I can't be. He might be the catalyst, but Callen was the one who was out of order. It's not like Deeks asked for this – for any of this. He didn't ask to join the team and he certainly didn't deserve to nearly have his head blown off by an NCIS agent. Deeks could report Callen for reckless endangerment and I'd back him up – but he doesn't do that. He doesn't do anything, mainly because there is a look of bleak resignation in his eyes. He knows, just as I do, that Sam will back Callen up, even though he wasn't there. Sam will insist that Callen made the shot and that is all that counts. And Deeks will just accept that – because what else can he do? I actually feel sorry for Deeks, because I suddenly realise what a hideous position he's in, being forced to work with this whole group of people who not only don't want him, but don't even care enough about him not to risk killing him. Except I do care. I care a lot.

And now I don't know what to think about him. Except that maybe I like Deeks. Just a bit. Hardly enough to mention, really. I've got to talk to him though – because he can't keep using these crappy names when he's undercover. Calling me 'Fern' was bad enough, but his own alias was 'Tim'. Tim? What kind of a name is Tim? Believe me, you will never lose your heart to a man called Tim and that's a fact. Not that I'm in any danger of losing my heart. And even if I was, I wouldn't lose it to Deeks.

It's that there was something about the way Deeks looked tonight, after Callen screwed him over. It was like he'd been expecting this all along, like he was used to it. And I felt for him. I'm not quite sure what I felt, but I felt something. Well, he's my partner, so that's probably why. We've got to work together and that means we've got to get to know each other, so that we act like a team. I think that it's been a long time since Deeks has felt like he's part of anything and for some reason that makes me want to give him a hug. He just looked so lost and so lonely.

I'm beginning to think I might have a thing for Deeks…

* * *

><p><em>Part Three of Fame will be up soon!<em>


	5. Fame: Day 2, Part II and Day 3

_Reposted, due to a large chunk of the action myseriously disappearing! I'm sure evil plot bunny had something to do with that. Or maybe it was devious plot bunny just trying to confuse me. AS long as they haven't joined forces and are now working in tandem..._

* * *

><p>I've changed my mind. I definitely do not have a thing for Deeks. I could never have any sort of feelings for a man who wears a plaid shirt, after all – except to feel sorry for him and his lack of dress sense. However, as it turns out, this is the least of my worries. I nearly died today. I was that close to having my throat slit, like some perverted sort of sacrifice. And now I'm lying in bed and I'm shivering, just trying to forget about it all, to push it out of my head, but I can't. So I figure that maybe if I write it all down, I can try to get past it. I hope this works. It's on nights like this that I envy Callen and Sam – they've got each other, they can talk about it all, and try to work out a way they can go on. It's times like this that I really need a partner, just someone who would now what I'm feeling, who would be there for me.<p>

Things took another unexpected turn when I was at the Darva house, but luckily I was able to Aubrey out of the way. I was on my own, with no way of letting the team know what was going on, except a couple of cryptic messages to Callen and some footage from my cell-phone camera. But I was all alone, and caught up with Hassan Al-Jahin, an Iraqi war criminal. Ben Darva had been duped like him – just like Aubry had been duped by her so-called friends. And Ben might have blown my cover, but he did so inadvertently, and when he tried to stand up for me, he was beaten savagely. I was handcuffed by then, handcuffed and kneeling on this back plastic they'd spread on the floor, so that I wouldn't ruin the carpets when they slit my throat. One guy pulled my hair, so that my head was jerked back and I thought this was it, and prepared to die as I felt the cold metal of the knife blade rest against my throat.

That sounds melodramatic, but it wasn't. I just thought about a whole lot of things, like the way the sun looks when it shines on the ocean in the morning and the way Deeks eyes light up when he smiles. He's got a lovely smile.

And then the team burst in. My team. And they were working together, all the previous differences put aside. Their entrance gave me the opportunity I needed to stop being a victim and start to fight back. The first thing I did was to bead butt the guy who was holding my head back, and then I thunked his companion in the junk so hard that I swear my boot-tip nearly went into orbit. Given that my hands were still cuffed behind my back, I felt I did pretty well under what Hetty would probably call 'trying circumstances'. By this point I was acting on pure adrenilin, so I did a modified back flip and then got myself out of the way, so that Sam could tidy up my left-overs. And that was how I got a prime view of Callen and Deeks facing off again over a suspect.

This time Deeks took one look at the gun Callen was firing and didn't need to be told hit the deck. But this time Callen's aim was off and if it hadn't been for Deeks bouncing back up like some jack in the box, I think Al-Jahin would have shot him – and he would have been shooting to kill. Deeks certainly was. And boy, can that man shoot. It was a perfect shot, straight out of the textbooks, despite the awkward angle.

There was sort of a stunned silence, as Callen just looked at Deeks and Deeks looked back at him in disbelief.

"What? You can't tell me I shouldn't have taken that shot?"

And Callen just continued to look at him – and then eventually replied. "No. I'm glad you did." Grudging as it was, it still cost him: I could see that. But Deeks couldn't. he just burst out into this boyish grin, like someone had given him the crown jewels of England. And that kind of took the shine off the moment for me. See, I reckon Deeks puts on this great show – but he's hurting underneath. He just wants to be accepted. And I know exactly how that feels. Maybe we're more alike than I thought? We're both hot and we both put on this great act. I'm beginning to think we might be able to work together. And I'm beginning to think that it might actually be fun.

* * *

><p>Normal service is resumed when we get back to the Mission, and we've all written up our reports. That's traditionally when we start to relax a little bit, letting some of the tension go. But this time, it all goes sour. Callen snipes that this operation has resulted in some pretty good PR for LAPD and Deeks is guileless enough to admit that he got a compliment from his boss. From the sound of it, that's as rare as hen's teeth and he looked really pleased, like some little kid who's got a gold star on his homework. Sam just looked at him and asked if that made him feel all warm and gooey and I could see just a little of the pleasure fade from Deeks' eyes. Sure, he responded quickly with a joke, and when Sam continued by asking if Deeks needed external validation, he deflected that barb too. It was a struggle not to laugh at Deeks asking Sam if he wanted to cuddle him, but I managed it somehow. I wanted to cuddle him. I managed to restrain myself – but it wasn't easy. Why couldn't they just have let the guy enjoy the moment? He'd done a good job – and he'd saved Callen's ass in the process.<p>

This is never going to work: I know that now because Sam and Callen are determined not to give an inch, or to let Deeks feel like anything except an unwanted interloper. It's ridiculous – they're behaving like school bullies and I can still remember how it felt to be despised by the 'in-crowd' and how much their jeers and taunts hurt, no matter how much I pretended they didn't. What they are doing is pathetic, that's what it is, and it is going to stop right now, because I am going to talk to Callen and make him see sense. And if that doesn't work, I'll kick him in the junk. I learned a long time ago that the only way to beat bullies is to stand up to them – and then if that doesn't work, you've got no choice but to beat the crap out of them. Even so, I'm not stupid enough to try that one with Sam. Callen is more my size, but Sam is… big. Really big. Put it this way: Sam's muscles have muscles.

Callen knows that not only can I kick him hard enough to really hurt, but that I will do exactly that. It's funny how a threat to their manhood galvanises men into action. It certainly works a treat with Callen, of course. A few choice words from me and he goes trotting off to Hetty, offering to pay any excess Deeks might have run up at _Balm_. Of course, being innately nosey (something he would deny) Callen can't resist the temptation to start trying to get some more information out of her about Deeks. That's how much this is bugging him – and I don't understand why. What is it about Deeks that makes Callen feel so strongly about him?

Now, Hetty is the sort of woman who would sit immobile and expressionless, and very possibly doing the New York Times crossword while you were pulling her toenails out with your teeth, so quite what Callen hoped to gain is anybody's guess – apart from subjecting himself to ritual humiliation. But, like I said, he's a man and men can really be quite dim at times, especially when they're thinking with their gonads. We women are much more subtle. Or even devious. Same difference, I suppose, when it comes right down to it.

So there's Callen digging away, while Hetty is just sitting there, letting him dig himself a lovely deep hole; being as inscrutable as only she can be, and all the time doing her best impression of the Sphinx. Meanwhile, I'm lurking and listening just as hard as I can. It's like some Shakespearean comedy. I never found those funny when I studied them at school, and I'm not finding this particularly amusing either. But if I've got to work with Deeks, it makes sense that I know as much as possible about him, right? So I'm prepared to do whatever I have to – even if that involves eavesdropping, which is pretty undignified. Eventually, Callen comes right out with it and tells Hetty that she's got an ulterior motive: she's been watching Deeks and that she wants him for an agent. He says this as a matter of fact and Hetty doesn't bother to deny it.

That doesn't make sense. It doesn't make any sense at all. What's so special about Deeks? Hetty could have picked any one of a hundred cute cops if she wanted to up the attractiveness quotient on her team. People are falling over themselves to join NCIS, after all. And OPS is the coveted posting - experienced agents would give their eye-teeth to join us, and yet Deeks just waltzes straight in here. So there must be something more to Deeks than is immediately obvious – he must be more than just a great body, a smile that would thaw a glacier and a crack shot. I'm going to have to strip him right down and find out the truth, one way or another. Whatever it takes. I'm that dedicated, I really am.

Hetty lets Callen say his piece, and then she gives Callen a rather condescending look before informing him that there is value in being patient. In other words, she politely tells him to butt the hell out. And I can take the hint, so I siddle off. She's right, of course. Hetty usually is, I've found. Even when she isn't, if that makes sense. There's no rush after all. Deeks and I are going to be working together, so I can just let things develop naturally, nice and slowly.

* * *

><p>So: today was the day I nearly died. And today was the day I realised that men can be every bit as jealous and petty as women. Today was also the day I discovered there might just be something more to Deeks than meets the eye. Of course, there's absolutely nothing wrong with the bits of him that <span>do<span> meet the eye –there is absolutely nothing wrong with them at all. And now, here I am back home in my apartment, sitting in bed, writing my journal and trying to make some sense of it all. And I'm not doing a very good job. I do know that I don't want to go into a situation like that one at the Darva house on my own again. I do want a partner, to know that there is someone who is going to have my back. And I think that I might just want Deeks, because I think I could trust him.

But I don't know. I just don't know. I don't know anything right now, except that I nearly died today and I'm tired and I'm scared and right now I'm so lonely I could cry.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday 9 July, 2010<br>Fame: Day 3**

Today started off really well: I went over to the hospital to see how Ben Darva is doing. He took a savage beating, but the good news is that he's going to be okay. And so is 's finally realised that although he is her step-father, Ben is her father in all the ways that actually count, because he has always been there for her. She tells me that she'd spent a long time looking for her birth father, only to find out her real father was right by her side all the time. I can empathise with her, because I know what it feels like to miss your father. I'll never stop missing my dad – he was taken far too soon. But Aubrey is going to be fine and I'm glad, because she's a nice kid and now she might actually make something of her life, instead of just frittering it away on mindless hedonism. This has been a real wake-up call for her.

Still, that's all pretty heavy for a Sunday morning, and I need some coffee. I didn't sleep much last night, what with all the thoughts whirling around in my head. Just as I'm going into the coffee shop to top up my caffeine levels, I see Deeks, sprawled on the hood of my car, leaning back against the windshield with sunglasses hiding his eyes. So when I buy my coffee, I buy him one too. It's a start – a small start, but if we're going to be working together, then we need to start actually working together. It's not a bribe – it's more like a peace offering, because I know how much he loves coffee. Or maybe it's just an acknowledgement that he's my partner, and this is what partners do for each other. When I come back out, he still hasn't moved and I can't work out if he's just staring up at the sky or if he's actually asleep. Either seems possible – actually, anything seems possible with Deeks. I've got to do something and I'm sorely tempted to do a remake of Sleeping Beauty and kiss the living daylights out of him but there are possibly laws against doing that sort of thing in a built-up area during the hours of daylight, especially when there are young children and small animals about, so I settle for taking his sunglass off and balancing the coffee cup on his forehead.

Deeks smiles at me and tells me that the gulls are coming in, which means there will be a wicked swell in the bay. I knew it: I absolutely knew he was a surfer. It's good to know my fantasy about him in a wetsuit is validated. I tell him that he'd better surf early because we start work at nine thirty, even though I'm not sure why we'd have him back, but I'm smiling when I say it, so he knows I'm only joking. Because now Deeks belongs to us. He's carved out his niche in the team: he's saved Sam's ass and he's saved Callen's ass. Who knows: one day I might need him to save my ass too. And one day he might notice what a great ass I've got and how the rest of me isn't too bad either and who knows what might happen after that?

Only he has to burst my bubble by telling me he's not coming in tomorrow. He's not coming in because he's going undercover on an operation for LAPD, one he's been trying to put together for a long time. Deeks doesn't sound too enthusiastic about this and I try frantically to work out why – is it because he's got misgivings about the whole operation – or could it be something else? I ask him how long he's going to be away for and I struggle to keep my voice neutral, and not to give away the fact I feel like a little kid who's just watched the last slice of birthday cake being given away to someone else.

"I don't know," Deeks says, and I know that is the truth and I know from the way that he says these words that there is something about this latest operation that scares him. He puts his sunglasses back on, maybe sensing that his eyes give away too much and says "Don't worry, Fern. I'll be back."

Yeah. Maybe he will be. Or maybe he won't be. I want to belive him, I really do, but there are no certainties in our line of work: none at all. You can't make those sort of promises, even if you look like an angel (albeit a fallen angel) and shoot like you are the direct descendant of William Tell. Why did I think I could trust Deeks? He's going away and I don't know when I'll ever see him again. He's going away, just like my dad did, just like Dom did and I don't want him to go. I know that now. Only I can't tell him that, so we drive back to the Mission, finish tidying up the ends of the case and he goes. Why is it that everyone I care about leaves me? And why does it hurt so much? I hardly know Deeks and I really don't feel anything for him at all. I'll probably never see him again and this time next week, I'll likely have forgotten all about him.

If I keep telling myself that, maybe I'll start to believe it. I will forget Deeks. I will. Eventually. I hope.

No. No, I don't hope that at all. I hope he comes back soon. Because we could be good together. As partners, I mean. Nothing more than that. Of course, if he played his cards right, Deeks might just be in with a chance – if he's very lucky.

* * *

><p>As I'm driving home this evening, I see a guy out on his board, riding the waves like a god, his hair shining like burnished gold in the dying rays of the sun and I wonder if it might be Deeks. That's stupid: it's probably not Deeks, because there are literally hundreds of surfer guys with long, lean bodies and tousled fair hair and eyes so blue it almost hurts your eyes to look at them. Deeks is nothing special, nothing special at all. But I think that maybe he could have been, if only we'd had more time.<p>

If Deeks doesn't come back in one piece I am going to kill him.


	6. Found

**Wednesday 26 July, 2010  
>Found: Epilogue<strong>

Dom is dead.

There. I've done it. Finally I've been able to put it down in black and white. I never thought I would write these words and this is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Because we failed Dom, every single one of us and he's dead. He's gone and the guilt is just about killing us, because we all feel that we could have done more. Especially Sam. Oh, poor Sam, because if I feel bad, then he feels a thousand times worse. Sam is blaming himself, thinking that if only he had done things differently, then Dom might still be alive. And that's not going to help him and it's certainly not going to help Dom. We do what we do. Sometimes there isn't any time to think, just to act. And sometimes our actions come back to haunt us when it all goes horribly wrong. Like today.

Today was not a good day. Dom died today and I keep thinking that maybe if only we'd had just one more minute…. But playing the 'what if' game doesn't help anybody: it just makes you feel a whole lot worse. We're all hurting so much. And now I don't have a partner – officially. Dom is gone and Deeks is… I don't know. I don't know where Deeks is. I don't even know if he's alive or dead. But I'd know if Deeks was dead, wouldn't I?

Dom is dead. It doesn't get any easier, no matter how many times I type these words. I still can't believe it. I don't think I'll ever believe it and I know for certain that I will never forget watching him die. And I feel so terrible, because the truth is that I stopped missing Dom a long time ago. We'd even stopped talking about him. Sure, he was there in the back of our minds – but only just. Oh Dom. You didn't deserve to die like that, you really didn't and you didn't deserve to slip away from our attention long before that. We should have tried harder, we should have talked about you every single day. You were a sweet guy, and I wish that I'd missed you more. But so much has happened since you were kidnapped that it seems like a different time when you were part of the team.

I feel so guilty, because I'd forgotten to remember Dom. And he was my partner. How could I do something like that - and what sort of a person does that make me?

* * *

><p>I suppose that if you have to die, then you might as well die a hero – and Dom did. He died on the rooftop of an old, abandoned theatre in downtown LA called The Palace, having finally managed to escape from his captors. But we were too late to save him, although Sam managed to speak to him, just before he died. Oh God, Dom said that he knew we would find him. He had hope and faith in us, right up to the end and he trusted us. He trusted us so much. If only we'd found him sooner… Because Dom was shot, throwing himself in front of a bullet that was meant for Sam and then he died. And I was standing there, watching it all go down, and not believing it and not able to do a single damned thing to save Dom. I was too shocked to even cry. This wasn't supposed to happen – Dom wasn't supposed to die, not like this. He was supposed to die an old man, surrounded by his family, by the people who loved him Instead, he died on a rooftop, with his team who had almost forgotten him and that wasn't right. Dom died saving Sam's life, and that is a hell of a burden for anyone to carry around with them, let alone Sam, who tends to be kind of protective towards us all. I think Sam would even try to be protective towards Hetty – if she'd let him. Of course, she would rather sit on Director Vance's knee and whisper sweet nothings in his ear before she would allow that to happen. But right now, Hetty is hurting every bit as much as the rest of us. She might even be hurting more, because Hetty is taking this very personally. So personally, that she even tried to resign and goes as far as handing Vance a letter of resignation. She feels responsible, just like we all do.<p>

So, Dom is dead. He's gone, just like my Dad. They both went so quickly, so unexpectedly, and I never had a chance to say goodbye to either of them. The difference is that there isn't a single day since then that I haven't thought about my Dad, while Dom just kind of retreated to the sidelines of my mind, and then slipped off my radar altogether. And I haven't heard anything from Deeks. It's been weeks and I haven't heard a single word from him or anything about him, even in passing. I've begged Hetty for news, but she says she's not kept in the loop, that this is LAPD business. I don't know if I believe her. Why do all the men in my life end up leaving me? Jack, Dad, Dom – and now Deeks. All of them went away and left me. Every single one of them. What is it about me that makes them do that? Why can't just one of them stay with me? I thought Deeks was different. That shows you how much I know. It strikes me that there are far too many men in my life whose names begin with 'D'. Whose names began with 'D', I should say. Because I can't stop thinking that Deeks could be dead too, for all I know. And if he is, I don't know what I'll do. I just can't stop thinking about him, period.

This is completely crazy. I've got to put Deeks out of my mind and stop thinking about him, because I'll probably never see him again. And he's just a man, a man I only knew for a few days. Six days, to be exact. Less than a week. And for at least one of those days I thought he was a potential suspect called Jason Wyler. Six days is nothing. He's been gone for much longer than that.

But Deeks said he would be back and I believed him. He told me not to worry, because he would be back. I believed him then, so why can't I believe that now? And why did he have to go and ruin the moment by calling me Fern? I am never trusting another man as long as I live. Not until I see Deeks again and I know that he is alright. And then I am going to hit him so hard he'll cry like a girl. I might even kick him in that delectable lunchbox of his. And after that, I might just kiss him. Because Deeks cannot be dead. I couldn't survive that. I'm barely hanging on as it is. Dom is dead, Deeks is gone and I miss him terribly. I miss him so much that it physically hurts when I think about him. So why do I torture myself like this – why don't I just forget all about him? The answer to that is simple: because I can't. That annoying, gorgeous, completely infuriating man has weasled his way into my heart, damn him. I didn't' ask him to that, but I just couldn't stop him. Just like I can't stop thinking about him. I walk down the street and I see a guy with fair hair and my heart misses a beat. And I'm miserable when I realise it isn't Deeks.

I can't write any more, because my heart is too heavy. I don't know if I'll ever write in this journal again. It's been a long time since I prayed, but tonight I prayed for Dom, and then I prayed for Deeks – I prayed that Dom was at peace and that Deeks would come back.

Deeks promised he would come back and I'm going to hold him to that. That prayer was just an insurance policy, nothing more. Deeks will come back. I know he will come back. I don't know how I am so certain of that fact – I just am. Because he's Deeks, I guess. He's the type who will come back, if only just so that he can bug me. And because I think he's the kind of guy who keeps his word. There is no way that I am going to let Deeks slip out of my mind, the way I did with Dom. I am going to keep thinking about him, every single day until he comes back. I am not going to lose another partner. No way.

Every man that was ever important in my life has left me. Every man I ever loved went away and left me on my own. But this time it is going to be different. I want Deeks to be the one who comes back to me and the one who stays with me. Is that really too much to ask? We could be good together – heck, we could even be great together. All we need is a chance. That's all I'm asking for – just a chance. If Deeks comes back, I'll make it worth his while – because he's worth it. I knew that, right from the start, right from the first minute I laid eyes on him. The fact is that this team needs Deeks, we need him to restore the balance, to help us heal from the scar Dom's death has carved across us. And the fact is that I know that I need Deeks, any which way at all. I don't care - I just need him and I want him to come back.

* * *

><p><em>Dom's death and the impact on the team was never really dealt with in any great detail on the show, so I've tried to address that here. And all the time Deeks was undercover must have taken a toll on Kensi. If you don't believe me, then just take a look at her reactions in Human Traffic, and the way Callen looks at her...<em>  
><em>Which leads very neatly into the trailer (you'd almost think this was planned, wouldn't you?)<br>Coming up next: Human Traffic, and the return of the lost sheep to the fold._


	7. Human Traffic, Part I

**Tuesday 28****th**** September 2010  
>Human Traffic<strong>

It's been eighty one days since I last I saw Deeks. Or eleven weeks and four days, if you prefer (I don't. I'd prefer it if Deeks was right here, where I can keep an eye on him. He's pretty good to look at, after all and that's a fact). Whichever way you look at it, he's been gone for a long time. A very long time. It's been a hell of a long time, and I've been going through hell, wondering where Deeks is and how he's doing. To be honest, he's been gone for far too long, and now I'm starting to get worried. Seriously worried, and that's a fact. We haven't heard anything from him since he went undercover for this long-game undercover op. LAPD were running. Not until this morning that is, when Hetty told us he had been out of touch with his handler for fourteen hours. That was bad news. Really bad news. An awful lot can happen in fourteen hours, after all. The thought of exactly what might have happened to Deeks nearly made me lose my breakfast right over the floor of Ops. Hetty didn't say it in so many words, but we were being tasked with what was clearly a search and rescue operation. And too often what you end up bringing back from one of these is a corpse.

But until I know otherwise, I'm going to do everything I can to help bring Deeks back to us, bring him back in one piece, thank you very much. He's put together in the most fascinating way and I would really rather he stayed that way, in tip-top physical perfection, if you don't mind. And for the first time in nearly three months, I actually feel like writing in my journal again.

Since Dom's death I haven't written anything, mainly because I'd rather just forget all the nights I spent lying awake, unable to sleep and staring up at the ceiling, thank you very much. It's like we've all been living through a nightmare, and our recent case load hasn't exactly helped, as it's brought up a whole load of crap that has a personal connection for Callen. To be perfectly honest, I think Callen is finding it difficult to cope right now. He's been chasing that spectre of his family again, and it won't leave him in peace. Ever since he found out that he had a sister – and then that she's been dead for years – he's been haunted by the news. He even dreams about it, so he's never at peace, not even when he's asleep. Nate reckons he's got 'unresolved identity issues' but I reckon the fat will really hit the fire when Callen realises that the man he's chasing in his dreams is wearing identical clothing to his own. So what does that say about him, I wonder? That's Callen is effectively chasing himself? That he holds the answers, somewhere deep inside himself? And what will happen if Callen ever catches up with himself in his dreams?

Callen tries to keep his troubles to himself, but he's not terrifically successful with that and I'm getting worried about him. The stress is beginning to tell on all of us, especially Sam, because Callen's staying with him. Sam has the patience of a saint, that's all I'm saying. He's specifically warned me against letting Callen stay at my place, because Callen doesn't sleep for more than twenty minutes at a time. Funnily enough, Callen looks great on this, while Sam looks like crap. Okay, I'm listening to Sam. I believe him when he tells me that Callen is the house-guest from hell. But they are partners, so Sam doesn't really have a choice. I wonder what his wife thinks about Callen landing himself on them? I wonder a lot about his wife actually, mainly because Sam is ultra-secretive about his home life – to everyone except Callen, obviously. But it can't be easy for her.

Now, don't get me wrong- Callen is a great guy, he really is – but what is wrong with him? He needs to accept the fact that he is a fully-paid up member of the human race and get his own place. It's not normal to either sleep at work or crash at your friends' places – except in an emergency. And it certainly is not normal to have so few worldly possessions that you can get them all into a couple of kit bags – unless you're a bum, of course. I would say that Callen is going through some sort of mid-life crisis, but seemingly he's been like this for years. I wonder if he's just cheap – or 'frugal', as Hetty put it. She's got a real way with words, has Hetty. Anyway, by not paying rent, Callen must have saved himself a small fortune over the years. And what does he do when he hooks up with a woman? Most of us aren't too keen to take a man back to our place until we know we can really trust them: it's a basic safety precaution.

Nate reckons Callen has a whole lot of baggage – psychological baggage obviously. Anyway, according to Nate, Callen has to work through his feelings of abandonment and isolation. Don't you just love shrinks and all their psycho-babble? All I'm going to say about that is that Callen is not the only one who's carrying those particular burdens, because I don't like talking about it. But my guess is that he's got commitment phobias, which would go some way to explaining why none of his relationships last for more than a few weeks (apart from the lack of a fixed abode, of course). Sam says Callen has a six-week limit when it comes to women, but I think it's a bit weird that he's been counting. There's being concerned and then there's taking rather too much of an interest in your partner's love life, if you know what I mean… Like I say, I wonder about his wife sometimes.

Okay – I'm rambling. I know that. I'm rambling because I can hardly think straight. Deeks is missing and I'm half out of my mind with worry. I've got to pull myself together, because we've got to try to find Deeks, who has been undercover as some scum-bag lawyer assisting with human-trafficking. And he's been using that cover for two and a half months. I just hope for his sake that LAPD put a bit more effort into back-stopping than they did when he posed as Jason Wyler. If ever there was minimal effort put into an alias, that was a text-book example of how not to do it. A fake driver's license does not constitute a cover. That was the sole extent of his alias back then and it does not exactly inspire me with confidence. A day seems like a lifetime when you are working undercover. Deeks has been undercover for two and a half months. I can't begin to imagine how stressful it must be or how he can maintain the level of vigilance required. Deeks has been completely on his own, with only a handler to report to. No partner, no backup – no nothing. And now he's not only missing, he's been missing since yesterday, when two men were blown up and Deeks should have checked in immediately. Only he didn't and now nobody can find him. Oh Deeks – what have you got yourself into?

This one is personal. The last time we went after one of our own, it all went horribly wrong and we had to watch Dom die. That is not going to happen this time. Sam and Callen seem to have forgotten their previous antagonism towards Deeks, and finally we are all acting together. Deeks is one of the team – he is one of us, whether he wants to be or not. We're all convinced of that and we will do whatever it takes. We will bring him back. That's a promise. It's not looking good though.

All the time we are being briefed, I can't stop thinking about Deeks, even though I am painfully aware that Callen is standing looking right at me. I can almost feel his eyes boring holes in me. Why is he looking at me like that? I'm only concerned because Deeks is my partner and it's clear that the guy needs somebody to look after him. Sorry, that came out wrong: I meant to say that Deeks needs somebody to look out for him. Somebody like his partner. His work partner, of course. Or his team mate. And no, I am not going to go down that line. So I used the word 'mate? It was not a Freudian slip and as long as Nate never reads this journal, then I'm safe. And even if Nate does read this entry, I reckon I'm still safe, because I will kill him. Nate's a good deal of a wimp, so I shouldn't have too much trouble there.

So I'm standing in Ops, and I'm just waiting for Callen to ask why I'm wearing a plaid shirt, and if he does, I don't know what I'm going to say. I hate plaid: everybody knows that. So don't bother asking me why I went out and bought a plaid shirt in the first place, far less put it on, because I simply don't know, and that is the honest truth. Deeks has a plaid shirt, which is kind of a coincidence though, isn't it? And maybe it's a good sign too. This morning I put on a plaid shirt and I come in to work to find out that Deeks is alive. Or was alive, yesterday. I don't know. I don't know anything, except that we are going to do everything we can to find Deeks and to bring him back alive – bring him back home to us.

We meet Deeks' case operator, Jess and she fills us in on the operation so far. She talks about 'Marty', and then corrects herself quickly when she realises we refer to him as Deeks. Perhaps she corrects herself just a little bit too quickly? I think Jess is closer to Deeks than she's letting on. She might even have a thing for him – it's not exactly unknown to happen when people work closely together. Just look at Sam and Callen and that weird bromance they have going on. I wonder what Deeks feels about Jess? And how he would feel about the fact she thinks he's dead and she's not doing a single thing to try to find him?

It turns out that not only is Deeks undercover as a lawyer, he actually is a lawyer. Or was a lawyer, before he was a cop. Wait a minute – can we rewind that, please? Deeks was a lawyer? My Deeks? Jess says this as if it is common knowledge and of course Callen acts like he knows this already. If he did, then why the hell didn't he mentioned it to me? How come Callen knows things about Deeks that I don't? That's not right. Callen doesn't even like Deeks. I can see I am going to have to have a few words with Mr G Callen. After we've found Deeks, of course. Jess might think he's dead, but I am not going down that road. He is not dead until we find him dead. It turns out that Jess was living on borrowed time. The minute she's finished talking to us, she goes to her car and it explodes. She's killed instantly. The bomb was triggered remotely, which is interesting. It's also tragic for Jess, but at least she never saw it coming. I guess that's the best way, if you're going to die – to have death come up behind you so quickly that you have no idea until it taps you on the shoulder. Then you have maybe one or two seconds of complete and utter panic before it's all over. That's the way I want to go – I don't want it to be anything prolonged and dramatic; I just want it to be quick and clean. That's the most anyone can hope for. If Deeks is dead, I hope he died quickly.

So now things are getting very messy, and they get even worse when this LAPD lieutenant called Scarli turns up. He looks like some relic from the nineteen seventies and he acts like it too, promptly claiming the crime scene. He's convinced Deeks is dead too. What is it with LAPD and everyone almost wishing Deeks dead? They need to have a little faith in the man, to believe in him. Deeks is good – he's really good. If anyone can get out of this alive, then it's Deeks. Of course, he might just need a little help, which is where we come in.

So we start doing our thing, as only we can. We start investigating this Serbian, Lazic, who has ties to all the names that set alarm bells ringing: the Mafia, the Columbian cocaine drug barons, the Afghan war lords with their ready supplies of heroin. Lazic is so confident he even travels under his real identity, so we have no problem in tracing him to LA. Great. A bad situation has just got a whole lot worse now that we know he is definitely in the game. When he hears this unwelcome piece of news, Callen goes off to see Hetty. And that's when I know Callen is worried – seriously worried. While they're talking, Hetty gets a call, and shortly after that, she leaves the Mission, with Callen tailing her. What neither of them know is that I am tailing Callen. He's not the only person who can put two and two together, you know. Deeks is my partner, and I have a right to know what is going down, just like I had a right to know about him being a lawyer. I'm still having trouble processing that one. It's hard to imagine Deeks in a suit, after all. But I give it my best shot and the resultant image is delectable.

I watch from a safe distance as first of all Hetty goes into this Russian café-bar, and then Callen darts in the side entrance, the one the employees use. Five minutes later, I sneak in through the front door, having made sure Hetty is engrossed in a game of Scrabble. If she's worried, she sure has a funny way of showing it. Although now that I come to think about it, the fact that she is playing Scrabble solo, with no opponent, is a slight give-away as to her state of mind. She's worried too. And when Hetty is worried, that sends red flags running up flag-poles, distress flares shooting into the sky and SOS messages across every airwave. Hetty does not panic. Not ever.

I make sure that I'm tucked away in a booth, well out of her sight-line. And then Deeks comes in, walking slowly, as if his whole body hurts, but he's alive. He's battered and probably bruised underneath that suit he's wearing, but he looks so tasty I could just eat him up. I'd forgotten how good he looks, and he looks even better in a suit. I knew he would. He looks so good that I could lick him. Deeks goes over to join Hetty in her discreet little corner, where the light is dim, but I can see his hair shining through the darkness and I can see how intently he stares at her. He's hurting, he's clearly shaken and there's a dazed look in his eyes, but Deeks is alive and my heart is singing with joy. I could hug him, I really could, but I manage to restrain myself. Sometimes I surprise myself with my own self-control.

I can't hear everything, but I hear enough. I hear that Deeks was caught up in that explosion – the one that killed two men. It is only by some miracle that he's alive, and he admits that he was injured too, carried out of there, patched up and then given such a massive dose of painkillers he was out for fifteen hours. And I hear Deeks asking Hetty to let him finish what he started. He nearly broke down when he said that, but his gaze never falters for a second. He was looking straight at he and it takes a whole lot of guts to do that, believe me. Lesser men than Deeks have tried and have failed miserably. And it sounds like he is almost begging when he talks asks her that. Hetty can't resist him – of course she can't. Not when he looks at her like: direct and straight and with so much pain in his eyes. Who could? Not me, that's for sure. I might have a whole lot of self-control, but I don't have that much. Of course, it's virtual suicide: it's too stupid for words. Deeks is going back in there, knowing that Jess has been killed – heck, after he was nearly killed himself. Hetty eventually agrees to let him continue, but that is because she knows she can't stop him. It's crazy, but it's also kind of wonderful. You've got to admire him, even if you want to smack some sense into him at the same time.

Deeks leaves shortly after that, walking out on his own - alone again - just like he was when we first met. But the difference is that this time he's going to have us working with him, and we are going to be doing everything we can to make sure he stays alive. I linger just long enough to hear Hetty call Callen out of the kitchen, where he's been skulking. She tells him that she doesn't take kindly to being tailed and I wonder if she's going to call me out too. But she settles for telling Callen that we need to find Lazic before he kills Deeks. That's how seriously she is taking this: she knows that right now Deeks has got an extremely limited life-expectancy. I've heard enough, and I've seen Deeks, so that's when I get out, so that I can get back to the Mission before they do.

Honestly, now I think about it, I could kill Deeks quite cheerfully. Does he think he's Superman or something? He is one man, working solo on an operation that was risky to start off with, but which has now got to the point where the odds of him getting out alive are astronomical. He had a chance to get out, to come back to NCIS with Hetty, but he insisted on going back in, like he's some sort of good, old-fashioned American hero. Just wait till I get my hands on him, till I get my hands on that gorgeous, beaten-up body. I'm going to take such good care of him that Deeks is never going to even think about doing anything so stupid again in his entire life. He's too reckless and it scares me. It also tells me that he's passionate about what he is doing, that he is committed and despite myself I feel a grudging kind of admiration for him, But Deeks is not going to put himself in this sort of suicidal position again. I guarantee that: even if I have to handcuff him to the bed to make sure of it. And if that's what I have to do, then I'll do it. You can put money on that because I am not going to let Deeks gamble with his life like this ever again.

* * *

><p><em>I've taken a slight liberty here and let Kensi be a witness to the scene between Hetty and Deeks. But then I reckon she's earned the right to be there.<em>


	8. Human Traffic, Part II

_As the fan-fic servers were down yesterday, I was only able to post yesterday's part today (if that makes sense!)_  
><em>By way of recompense, I'm posting twice in one day - hope you enjoy the second part of Human Traffic, as seen through Kensi's eyes.<em>

* * *

><p>Everybody has a weakness, and that's a fact. First of all, you find that weakness, and then you need to exploit it in any way you can. With Lazic, it's drugs: cocaine to be precise. So, the quickest way for us to find Lazic is to find his dealer. And once we've found lazic, we're on our way to finding Deeks. Sometimes it really is that simple. Or rather it would be, if good old Lt. Scarli of LAPD didn't come up and push his big, fat belly into things, promptly screwing everything up in the process and taking the dealer away, just after I'd bugged the guy. Honestly, you would think Scarli didn't want us to find his missing detective, wouldn't you? It was just lucky I'd got us an insurance policy, in the form of the dealer's cell-phone. I've always had nimble fingers, and picking his pocket wasn't exactly difficult in that rather undignified struggle between NCIS and LAPD. And what we found on that phone was very interesting indeed: namely a whole load of calls between Jess Traynor and Emilio, the guy who had been running the LA end of the smuggling operation, right up to his unfortunate end in the explosion yesterday afternoon. Hell's teeth - this is not good: it looks as if Jess was in on the whole thing. And if she was, that means Lazic knows about Deeks – knows exactly who he is. And that piece of information could be Deeks' death warrant. But not if I've got anything to do with it.<p>

If I was worried before, now I'm mad. I am literally furious and I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me. Jess was Deeks' partner and she has betrayed him. It's a good thing she is dead, or I would be punching her into the middle of next week, then hauling her right back and starting all over again. How dare she? Nobody screws over my partner. Nobody. Not ever. What is it with LAPD? How come these guys don't have the first idea about how to work together? This whole operation was risky enough for Deeks without being screwed over by his own partner. His former partner, I should say. He's got me now. Everybody's got to have somebody, after all and Deeks is lucky enough to have me. By now he's got Sam, and Callen on his side too. What you lose on the swings, you gain on the roundabouts, as Hetty would say. I love her way with words, I really do.

* * *

><p>We track Deeks down to a disused power-plant, and we know we've not got much time, so we go in quick and dirty. Sometimes that's the only way to do it – usually it's the only way when you're pretty as desperate as we are. I'm positioned outside with a sniper's rifle, on a high trajectory, where I've got a great view in through a window. I've rather too good a view, as it happens, because I can see Deeks through the scope: he's talking to Lazic and it looks like he's trying to bargain with the creep. Lazic lets him talk for a while, and then it's clear that Deeks' cover is blown, because all of a sudden azic and then his gang are working Deeks over again. It's clear that they mean business and that this is in the nature of a punishment, to inflict maximum pain before they finally kill him. There's no such thing as a quick, clean death when you are dealing with someone like Lazic.<p>

These guys mean business. Deeks' back is up against a concrete pillar and he has nowhere to run to, no retreat or means of escape. He's alone, unarmed and overwhelmed. He has to take the blows, which are raining down upon him – they are hitting his face, his torso and Deeks is doubled over in pain, spitting out blood. And I am watching every single second of the attack. I feel every punch they throw and every punch Deeks takes. Every single one. These guys mean business, that's for sure. I have to watch Deeks be beaten up and it just about makes me sick. I know that Deeks has no idea that we are here and that he must think that this is the end, that this is where he is going to die, in some godforsaken power-plant, miles from anywhere. You wouldn't guess that from the way Deeks behaves though, except for this one time when he looks up towards the window, where the sun is pouring through and just for one moment there is this strange look on his face. I can't quite work out what he is thinking or what emotions he is feeling. Regret? Longing? Relief that this is nearly over? It's impossible to tell. Deeks has no idea that I am able to see him, that we are ready to try to pull him out of this situation. He must believe that death is so close he could just reach out and touch it. And then Lazic grabs him by the throat, pushes Deeks upright against that pillar, so that he is gagging, but damn the man, he still won't admit defeat and he just glares at his captor like he's daring him just to get all this over with.

That's when Callen strolls in, in the guise of a courier with a lovely big package of coke. Talk about perfect timing. Lazic's cold blue eyes light up with delight at that news, and he lets Deeks drop back down to the ground. He's taken some damage, I can tell, because he stays in a kneeling position, which suits me just fine, because it gives me a clear, unobstructed view of my target. We have to act now, act fast and get this over, because Callen has gone in unarmed. It's a hell of a risk on his part, because Lazic and his men are all as jumpy as hell, but that's Callen for you. I swear that he's got ice-water in his veins and maybe he's feeling a bit guilty about how he treated Deeks before. It might even be that Callen reckons he owes Deeks one for saving his life back in the Darva house. Whatever his motives are, I don't particularly care right now, I just admire him for what he is doing and the risk he is taking.

Our hastily created plan is all coming together now, and I've got the guy escorting Callen in my sights. Hauling in a deep breath, I switch on the laser scope, so that Callen knows that all hell is going to break lose. That's our signal, because we've got no other way of communicating. The guard sees a small red dot shining on his pants and from the look of terror on his face he knows exactly what is going to happen next, but by then it is already too late. The next thing he knows, his thigh bone has been shattered into a hundred fragments. The instant I've taken my shot I am up and running towards the building, like all the hounds of hell are after me, just as Sam is bursting through the doors.

It goes down pretty well, although I learn later there are a couple of tense moments. The instant the guard falls, Callen grabs his gun from and shoots one of the guys holding Deeks, who in turn rolls behind a pillar, and manages to get himself a weapon as Callen shoots another of Lazic's men. And then it is pretty much like a shooting fish in a bucket as Sam arrives on scene. Lazic's guys don't stand a chance. By the time I arrive, the action is over, the bad guys are dead and we're all still in one piece. Deeks is not only alive, he's looking pretty good, considering what's he's been through. Okay, he looks amazing. So what if he's got some cuts on his face – I could kiss them better. And then I could peel off that suit and kiss the rest of him better too. In my dreams. Oh, how I hope that happens in my dreams. How great would that be?

Sam gives Deeks this look, like he's the best thing he's seen in weeks, but all he says is "Hey, Deeks: it's good to see you." And Deeks give him that grin and tells Sam that it's good to see him too. And then he turns to me. He looks at me straight, and says "I told you I'd be back." Insouciant, or what? Insouciant or just plain dumb? What else did I expect? This is Deeks, after all.

Who does Deeks think he is? Arnie as the Terminator or something like that? Anyway, of course I knew he'd be back. I never doubted it for one second. I knew he'd be fine. Deeks is too annoying not to be fine. That's why I never had a single sleepless night lying awake worrying about him. Deeks is like a cat with nine lives, even if he has lost at least four of them since I've known him. Oh, Deeks is fine, alright. So utterly fine it makes my eyes water just thinking about just how very fine he is. Especially in that suit.

"Yeah. You look just great," I tell him, with the merest hint of sarcasm and he shrugs. Of course, he's high on adrenalin, so I don't push it, not just yet. I want him to go to the hospital, get himself checked over, but being a man, Deeks insists there's no need. Of course, there isn't. He only got himself blown up, patched up, tranked up to the eyeballs with God knows what, and then beaten up, so why would he possibly need to go to hospital? What an idiot I am to even suggest such a thing. Was Deeks born annoying or does he have to work at it, I wonder?

"Lazic told me he's been paying someone in LAPD. He's got a dirty cop working for him. It's not over. Not yet." The euphoria has gone now and Deeks looks like a man whose mission is only half over.

Callen throws me a look, and then he starts to tell Deeks about Jess – about how she's the mole, and Deeks looks as if he's just been punched in the gut again.

"No. Not Jess. I know her. I knew her," he corrects himself. "She'd never do anything like that.

"Maybe you didn't know her quite as well as you thought?" Sam suggests, and Deeks draws his brows together. He has the cutest eyebrows, I notice- all sandy blond and shaggy.

"I knew her, Sam – alright? And there is no way she was dirty. Jess wasn't involved in this. You have to trust me on this."

He's adamant about that. Gone is the laid-back, easy-going Deeks, and instead we're looking at someone who is absolutely determined. Stubborn idiot. Stubborn loyal idiot. What choice do we have? He's one of us, part of the team – so of course we have to trust him – and we need to show him that we trust him and trust his judgement. Besides which, Deeks was about twenty seconds away from having his head blown off, so we need to give him a bit of slack. He's earned it.

* * *

><p>So that's how Deeks ends up sitting in a car, drinking coffee with dear old Lt. Scarli. Because it turns out that this operation wasn't just about human trafficking – it was also about rooting out deep-seated corruption in LAPD. It was a two-pronged attack, with Deeks going after Scarli and Jess going after the mole in their own department. All the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place now, and Deeks is determined to nail Scarli down. In fact, Deeks wants to nail Scarli to the duplicitous double-cross he's been playing and then crucify the guy. I think he wants some sort of revenge too, not just for Jess's death, but also for the fact that Scarli tried to blacken her name. I wonder if Deeks and Jess did have a thing? Scarli showed us this photo of Deeks, supposedly leaving Jess's apartment – but that could mean anything. Or nothing. I don't know. I don't even kniw if it matters, because Jess is dead now.<p>

Anyway, Deeks is playing Scarli for all he is worth and he plays it brilliantly. I know now exactly how Deeks is able to do these long-term under-cover ops, because he is completely believable. Heck, I believe Deeks and I know exactly what he's doing. Scarli doesn't haven't a clue. Maybe he's got lazy, as well as being fat and complacent. All that money he was going to make, exploiting some poor girls who were nothing to him – just a way of bringing in some money. No wonder he wanted NCIS to stay the hell away from his operation and no wonder he was so sure Deeks was dead. We listen in, as Deeks spins this carefully constructed web that is so delightfully sticky Scarli can't resist the temptation to be drawn in. Of course, we're recording everything, so we can use his own words against him. At one point, I actually think Deeks might be about to cry – that's how good he is. He's one hell of an actor, that's for sure. I'll have to remember that. I've been pulled in by guys before, and let them get close enough to hurt me, because I thought they were something special, when all along they were just lying to me. I've been hurt before and I am not going to be hurt again. Not by Deeks, not by anyone.

So Deeks let Scarli dig his hole, and then he booted him right into it, and then kicked a whole heap of dirt on top of him, so that the pig was buried up to his neck in it. No wonder Deeks was so certain Jess would never have been involved in human trafficking - not when her own cousin was kidnapped, taken to Mexico and abused when she was only eleven. When I hear that, I realise that Jess and Deeks were close – very close. And that maybe those tears I thought I saw in his eyes were real.

And that is how it played out – with Lazic lying dead in the basement of an old abandoned warehouse, Deeks back with us and Scarli in custody. Deeks wasn't taking any joy in having nailed the corrupt cop, none at all. He seemed pulled between resignation and repulsion and that made me wonder what else he had seen during his time with the force. It also made me reassess the reaction of the cops when they saw Deeks that time when we went to look at Aubrey Darva's car. If Scarli was in any way typical of LAPD detectives, the fact that they didn't like Deeks was a huge plus-point in his favour.

The case was over, and logically everything should have ended there, but Scarli made a mistake, a huge mistake that could have been fatal – for him and maybe for Deeks as well. When it came right down to it, Scarli couldn't keep his mouth shut, even though that big mouth had already spewed out his confession. Some men don't have the sense they were born with, and that's a fact. Scarli just couldn't let well enough alone. He'd been beaten by Deeks but he thought he had one card left and he just had to throw it into the ring. Some people just don't have the sense to know when they are beaten.

"How was she in bed?" he spat out and we all knew who he was talking about: Jess. Jess, the LAPD detective that he had sent to her death. Jess, who had been Deeks' partner and maybe she had been something more than that. I don't know. I gues that I'll never know.

Deeks was walking away when Scarli threw out that remark, but it was enough to stop him dead in his tracks and he turned around with a look of disbelief on his face and asked Scarli to repeat that. There was a tone in his voice that shouted out a warning, loud and clear. Even Scarli wasn't so dumb he could miss that.

"Ask me again." By now Deeks had his gun jammed right underneath Scarli's chin, so that if he fired, he would blow the top of the cop's head off. Wisely, Scarli said nothing, so Deeks repeated the question, louder this time. By the time he demanded that Scarli ask him again for a third time, Deeks was almost screaming and there was no doubting the fury in his eyes. At the time, I was convinced that Deeks was going to take that shot – that's how out of control he was. Now, looking back at things, and remembering what a great actor Deeks is, I kind of wonder. I'm not sure – it could have gone either way. As it was, it was a pretty close call. Deeks certainly looked mad enough to kill SCarli and I wouldn't have been surprised if the cop had peed his pants there and then.

"Deeks? Put it down." I didn't shout, I just spoke really clearly and calmly, trying to get through to him. I wasn't about to let my partner make this huge mistake – because Scarli wasn't worth it. Scarli would be tried in a court of law, he would be found guilty and then he would be jailed for a very long time. The man's life was in shreds and I wasn't about to let Deeks ruin his own life for this worthless scumbag. "Deeks?" My voice was softer this time, and that seemed to get through to him, because he unchambered the round.

You know when you first try to swim a length of a swimming pool underwater, and there comes a point where you've simply got no air left in your lungs and the world is starting to go black around the edges? You surface and then you drag in some air and it feels so damned good. That's how I felt when Deeks turned away from Scarli – like I could breathe again. But I'm a woman. Men think differently to women, and that's a fact. Sometimes I wonder if they think at all. Except with a certain part of their anatomies, of course.

Deeks shot Sam a look – a questioning look, and Sam gave him that quizzical half-smile he has – and then he nodded. It was as if Deeks had been asking permission, or something weird like that. And Sam gave it to him. He almost looked like he'd been expecting it, if you really want to know. Anyway, with that nod from Sam, Deeks whirled around and threw this punch at Scarli. It was a great punch and I wouldn't be surprised if Scarli was spitting teeth for days afterwards. After that, Deeks kept on punching, using Scarli like he was a punchbag, or something, until Callen pulled him off. See, that was where Scarli another of his big mistakes. He might have gambled on the fact that taunting Deeks was sure to get a reaction from him, but he hadn't counted on us, or the fact that we would look out for Deeks, stop him from doing anything too stupid. He deserved to get to whack Scarli, sure he did – but not to kill him, which was why Callen stopped him before it all went too far. None of us saw anything, of course. Absolutely nothing at all – because nothing happened. I would stand up in any court in this country and swear to that fact without blinking an eye and I would mean every single word of it. Because that's how it goes. It's called natural justice – and Scarli was lucky to get off so lightly.

Deeks started to stalk off, his face still consumed with anger. That's the only way I can put it: it was as if there was a fire burning inside him. I put out my hand so that it was flat against his chest and I could feel how tense he was. I could feel his heart hammering through the thin material of his shirt. We looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity, although I bet it was no more than a few seconds. The anger in his eyes died down and was replaced by this look of total incomprehension, and then Deeks pulled away from me and strode off, running his hand through his hair in a manner that suggested utter despair.

And I stood there, wondering what the hell to do next. This wasn't the way Deeks was supposed to come back, only to storm off again. Why does life have to be so fucking complicated all the time? Why couldn't Deeks have had the decency to pull grab me by the elbows and pull me into his arms and then kiss me so hard my lips would be bruised for days afterwards?

* * *

><p><em>Now, this was pretty much where the episode ended. But there had to be more, didn't there? Well, the next part of this story will be a WHN - or 'what happened next' - in other words, an episode tag. Because how can you end with beaten-up, angst ridden Deeks and Kensi just looking at him walk away? It's not fair, is it? So, in the interests of justice, I, Maxie Kay, do solemnly vow to right that wrong.<em>


	9. Human Traffic: Epilogue, Part I

**Tuesday 28****th**** September 2010  
>Human Traffic: Epilogue<strong>

"Go after him."

I turned round in astonishment to find Sam standing there, with his arms crossed. "Go on," he added, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"What are you waiting for" Callen adding, striking the same post. Honestly, I've I wasn't so worried about Deeks, I would be asking some serious questions about those guys. First it's Callen staying with Sam and his mysterious 'wife' (whom nobody has ever seen and whose existence I am seriously beginning to doubt) in his 'spare room', and now they're mirroring each other's body language. I'm not so daft I can't see what's right under my nose. Still, live and let live, that's what I say. They wouldn't be the first partners with benefits after all. It is strange though, because I was almost sure Callen had a bit of a thing for me thought.

"He needs someone." Sam jerked his thumb in the direction Deeks had gone off in. "Guy's hurting right now and there's no telling what he might do." He sounded worried. More than that, he sounded like he actually cared.

"And you're his partner." Callen smiled at me. "He needs you."

So I went after Deeks. Not because I was stuck on him, and certainly not because I was smitten with him – but becauseI was his partner. And because right now I was the only person he had. And after all the effort we'd gone to saving his butt, I didn't want Deeks to go and screw everything up. I ran after him and found him without any difficulty. He was standing just around the corner, leaning back against a wall with his head bent down. And he was breathing hard, like he was trying to take back control of his life.

"Deeks?"

His head jerked up. "That's my name. Of course, I haven't heard it much in the past few months." He was nursing his right hand and I could see that his knuckles were bleeding and bruised.

"Looks like you've done yourself a bit of damage there."

"That? That's nothing. You should see the rest of me." And then he smiled, a slow smile that looked almost automatic, because it went nowhere near his eyes. The mask slipped back down into place and the familiar light-hearted note crept back into his speech. "And that is not an invitation, Fern. My body is a temple, don't you know? A sacred place, to be approached with due reverence."

It was like he'd been reading my mind or something – all those dreams I'd been having about worshipping before the glory that was Deeks – particularly gloriously naked Deeks. Not that I was about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. And anyway, that nonchalant pose he was assuming didn't fool me for one second.

"Shut up, Deeks. Just shut up, will you? And let me look after you. God knows, you need someone to look after you, judging by the state you're in right now. You look like something the cat dragged in." I wasn't taking 'no' for an answer; in fact I'd grabbed his hand and was dragging him towards his hire car.

"You say the nicest things." Deeks wasn't exactly putting up much resistance, in fact he was trotting along quite meekly at my side.

"And you don't have to put on that front. Not with me. Not right now." I turned around and stared directly into his eyes, those eyes that can be so dreamy, or so angry and found that they were clouded with confusion, so that he looked like a little boy. "We're partners, Deeks. Partners – okay?"

He knew what that meant: he knew exactly what it meant. Your partner is the person you are closest to: they are the person you literally trust with your life. So that means you can trust them with other things too.

"Sure. Whatever you say." His shoulders kind of sagged when he said that, and all the fight went out of him. "But I'm fine. I don't need to go to the hospital."

I could have made him to hospital, simply by poking him sharply in the solar plexus, which I was pretty sure was covered in bruises. But that would have been cruel. I've got other, more subtle weapons at my disposal. And anyway, he looked so pathetic, like some puppy that is just waiting to be kicked. "I'll believe you, Deeks. Thousands wouldn't, but I will. Aren't you lucky you've got such a trusting partner?"

"Believe me, I've been thanking my lucky stars since the first day I saw you in the Warrior's gym. Every single day and every single night."

I was tempted to go along with that, because it was such a cute image: Deeks thinking of me as he lay in bed at night. Or not. Somehow I didn't think he was thinking chaste thoughts. But I couldn't let him see how much he got to me. "I did not give you permission to have fantasies about me, Deeks."

"They were good ones, Kensi – really good."

"I don't care." I wondered if they were half as good as the fantasies I'd had about him. Somehow, I doubted it.

"So when are you going to give me permission? On my birthday? Or how about Christmas - -that's sooner."

"How about never?" I shoved him none to gently into the passenger seat and he winced slightly.

"How come you're driving and it's my car?"

"How come Superman wears his underpants on top of his tights?" I countered. Sometimes you have to think laterally with Deeks and this was one of those occasions.

Deeks was silent for a bit as he pondered this. "How come he wears tights in the first place?" He actually sounded serious, like it really mattered.

There wasn't any answer to that, so I just drove instead. And guess where we ended up? I'll give you a clue: it was not at the hospital. Well, I tried to suggest it again, and Deeks turned those soulful eyes on me… I bet he did that to the midwife when he was born, and managed to get out of having his butt slapped. And I bet that ever since then there have been lots of women whose hands have just itched to smack some sense into him. Or just to smack that great butt.

* * *

><p>Which was how we ended up at the beach. Not just any beach, but this 'special' beach Deeks directed me to. It was kind of pretty and it was well away from the normal tourist meccas. In fact, it was deserted, so there was just me, Deeks and the sun slowly sinking down into the ocean. Under other circumstances, it could have been romantic. If I was with another guy, of course, instead of being with a bashed-up Deeks. He did look kind of cute though, in a bruised, rumpled sort of way. That is the downside about being partners with someone – you have to put your own personal feeling aside a lot of the time. This is exactly the sort of thing you have to do for your partner: you get to freeze your ass off on a deserted beach and in doing so you pass up possibly them most romantic moment you've had in years, simply because you don't want to go and ruin everything. Frank and Nancy Sinatra knew what they were singing about, believe me.<p>

Somewhere during our drive, the sun had set and there was a cold wind starting to come in from the ocean. When I looked at Deeks he was almost blue with the cold. "You're shivering." The breeze was moulding his shirt to his body in a way that left nothing to the imagination. He'd left his jacket in the car, of course. Men – I ask you. None of them have the sense they were born with.

Deeks shrugged again. He seemed to be doing an awful lot of that. "My blood sugar's probably a bit low."

That didn't sound good. Deeks is slim, but he's also tall and well-muscled. If he passed out on me, there was no way I could lug him back up the beach to the car. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

He thought about this for a moment. "Yesterday morning?" He didn't sound too sure about that. "I had a cup of coffee with Hetty earlier today though."

Well, that made it all right, didn't it? He'd put a whole cup of coffee into his system in thirty-six hours and he sounded like he thought that made everything just fine. "You need to eat, Deeks."

"I'm not really hungry." His hair was blowing wildly around in the wind and he looked frozen to the marrow. I looked at him standing there, staring out across the ocean hands jammed into his pockets and this looks of despair on his face. I reminded me of a lines from a song: 'You walk past a café, but you don't eat when you've lived too long.' This operation had taken a huge toll on him, and that's the truth. He can't hide it anymore and I don't think he's got the strength to even try to pretend that everything is fine. Deeks needs someone to look after him. It's a good thing he's got me.

I couldn't help myself: I took hold of his hand again. "How about another cup of coffee? I'm buying."

"You're buying? Then I'm drinking."

"Good." Maybe I could dump a couple of spoons of sugar into the brew without him noticing. I might even be able to force a brownie down his throat. Everyone likes brownies, right?

"I make a point never turning down an invitation from a beautiful lady."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Deeks." Not tonight, at any rate. Mainly because what he needs is to go to bed and sleep for about a week. A deep and dreamless sleep.

"It'll get me a cup of coffee though. I'll settle for that." He gave my hand a squeeze and then pulled me close. "How about we go back to the car before my junk turns into a popsicle?"

"You are so disgusting." I pulled back, but I was smiling. "Seeing as you look so pathetic, I'll even put the heater on for you."

"You say the nicest things."

"You have no idea." He doesn't know the half of it. Deeks has no idea about all the things I'd love to say to him, at the same time as I am draping my body across his and running my hands through his hair as we lie together in bed. And he's never going to find out, because that is never going to happen. Which is a pity. And it is turning into a beautiful evening and walking hand-in-hand along the beach with Deeks could have been the start of something epic. Oh well – maybe it'll just be the start of a beautiful friendship instead? And nobody has actually died of frustration, have they? If I'm wrong about that – I don't want to know. I'll just die in ignorance.

* * *

><p>We're sitting in a coffee shop and Deeks has finally stopped shivering. He's got both hands wrapped around his coffee cup and, as he moves it towards his face, I notice that his eyes half close as he savours the aromas floating upwards. The cup hesitates for a second and then he takes that first sip, and at that exact moment his eyes shut fully and an ecstatic look transforms his face. Finally, once he's swallowed, Deeks lets out a low groan of pleasure.<p>

Wow. That was – pretty graphic. Deeks is clearly a man who revels in the sensory delights of the world. If this is how he acts to a coffee, what the hell is he going to do when he's, errr – rather more involved in the moment? If you get my drift. I never knew there was such a thing as coffee porn before – well, I know now.

"Good?" I ask. I'm just glad the shop is almost deserted, because I never imagined I'd be playing in a remake of _When Harry Met Sally_, and especially not with Deeks playing the Meg Ryan role. Although they do have similar hair, now I come to think about it – all thick, blond and shaggy.

Deeks is looking a whole lot more relaxed now. In fact he looks almost exactly like someone who has just been transported in raptures, heights, if you know what I mean. "You have no idea," he sighs happily and then takes another sip. He seems equally delighted with that one too.

No, but I would like to. I'd like that very much. "You've got foam on your moustache." Without thinking I stretch across the table and brush my fingertip slowly across the place where the short golden stubble meets his upper lip. And then I feel like a complete idiot, sitting there looking at this coffee foam lining the edge of my index finger. What the hell do I do now? I settle for slipping my finger into my own mouth, and Deeks' eyes open just a little wider. What was I meant to do? Wipe it on my jeans or something? That would be gross.

"Kensi?" His voice is low, and he's looking down at the coffee cup, which is still cradled in both hands. "Thank you." He doesn't need to say any more, because we both understand. Sometimes it's the words you do not say that have the most meaning.

"You're welcome." I could leave there, in fact I probably should leave it there – but I can't. "I've got to look out for you – partner." And for some reason, I put my hand on top of his and smile at him.

His eyes are so blue and they are an instant guide to what he is feeling. Deeks is a good actor, but he's not that good. He can't hide the hurt and hope in his eyes. "You mean that? Even after…"

"Even after we had to haul your butt out of there? Yeah, well – you saved Sam and Callen a couple of months back, so we kind of had to, didn't we? We owed you."

"I owe you." Deeks looks at my hand, which is still resting on top of his and then he looks up at me, and I think that there's a little less hurt in his eyes now and a whole lot more hope.

"I'll hold you to that." I give his hands a little pat. "And I'm going to start calling in that favour right now."

Is that a pout I see? Surely not. Grown men do not pout, after all. "I don't need to go to hospital."

"Who said anything about hospital?"

* * *

><p>I didn't have the heart to make Deeks go to hospital, even though I knew he should have got himself checked over. Basically I am a complete sucker for those wide-eyed appealing looks that Deeks has got down to a fine art. We swung by the apartment he was using under his alias as Dale John Sully, the corrupt lawyer who was not averse to a little human trafficking, just as long as the money was right, and we grabbed his personal stuff.<p>

"Are these yours or the department's?" I asked, pointing to at least four other business suits hanging in the closet. I still wasn't used to Deeks in a suit and it seemed strange to even contemplate he might even own more than one. Every guy has to have at least one suit, after all – for weddings and funerals, at least. Unless they're in the services, of course, when dress uniform will do nicely.

"They're mine," he said shortly. "Remnants of a misspent youth."

"So I heard."

"Don't believe everything you hear." Deeks grabbed the suits, some dress shirts and a handful of ties and stuffed them all into a garment bag, and then put the remainder of his belongings into a kit bag. It didn't take long to pack all his stuff, mainly because there wasn't much of it, other than the clothes.

"No hairbrush?" I couldn't resist it.

He gave me a very old-fashioned look. "Can I change my mind about going to the hospital now? Because my sides are splitting."

It was just the opening I'd been waiting for. "You've got a choice – you can either go to the hospital, or you can come back to my place and let me check you over." I sighed when he raised those eyebrows in what I suspected was his trademark suggestive look. "Medically speaking, Deeks. Down boy."

"You're so heartless, Fern – you lead a guy on and then you drop him right back down."

"I'll have you put down if you don't start to behave, Deeks. And start to look after yourself."

"But I've got you now, Fern. You'll look after me, won't you?" he cajoled, almost like he was flirting with me.

"Somebody has to, I guess." It was a hard job, but somebody had to do it. And it looked like that somebody was me.

"Thanks, Kensi." The joking tone was completely absent from his voice now and he was staring straight at me, with those eyes that were so blue it almost hurt to look at them.

"Just don't make a habit of it, okay Deeks?"

"I think I can manage that. I'll try."

Oh, he was trying, all right. He would try the patience of a saint. And I am no saint. Far from it.

Anyway, that was how we ended up back at my apartment, just me and Deeks.

* * *

><p><em>There's a couple of song references in there: <strong>Somethin' Stupid<strong>, by Frank and Nancy, which I'll always associate with my Dad, and then **Rock and Roll Suicide**, by David Bowie._

_Anyway, you'll see that this epilogue has not ended. It was only intended to be one chapter, but like Topsy, it just grew and grew. Part two will be coming tomorrow_.


	10. Human Traffic: Epilogue, Part II

_This installment turned out to be a little longer than even I had anticipated...  
>So here it is - the second and final part of my WHN for <strong>Human Traffic<strong>. I hope it live up to your expectations!_

* * *

><p>So, that was how Deeks and I ended back here at my apartment. Luckily, for once my place was looking fairly respectable, by which I mean that you could see the floor and the surfaces weren't too cluttered. And by some miracle there were no empty pizza boxes lying around either. That's about as good as it gets with me. Well, I have a busy and demanding life and the housework will still be there tomorrow. Just as long as my place isn't an active health hazard, then I reckon I'm doing okay. Actually, Callen's peripatetic lifestyle is starting to look better by the instant, because I've just realised that he doesn't have to do any housework at all, due to his distinct lack of a house. The guy really does have the ideal bachelor lifestyle: no bills, no chores – other than a trip to the Laundromat once a week to wash his clothes – and no responsibilities. Perfect. And when he's staying with Sam, I bet Sam does the laundry. Callen isn't daft – not daft at all. He might just be a good deal of a sponger, but he's not stupid. He's basically managed to avoid all the responsibilities of adult life.<p>

I, on the other hand, am completely, certifiably mad. Because I've brought Deeks back to my home and what's more, I've sent him off for a shower. What the hell am I thinking? Have I been taking mind-altering drugs or something? Right now Deeks is less than twenty feet away from where I'm sitting and he is standing stark, staring naked underneath my shower. My mouth is watering at that picture and it's all I can do not to have to go in there after him. So don't ever tell me I don't have any self-restraint, because I've got it in bucket-loads. I've got too much self-control, that's my problem. Added to which, I'm a glutton for punishment. All in all, I'm a sad case, that's what I am. I wait until I hear the shower stop, give him five minutes to get decent (the longest five minutes of my life) and then I knock politely on my bedroom door.

"Deeks? You okay in there?"

"I'm fine."

Well, it is my home, so I take that as permission and walk in. Deeks is towelling off his hair, and he is wearing nothing but a pair of loose drawstring pants. Wow. That sight just about takes my breath away and my thighs feel like they've turned to rubber. I can't stop look at him, at every single inch of him. Believe me, there is a lot of Deeks to look at and it's all good. The only thing is, that incredible body of his is covered in bruises and scrapes, with some nasty-looking cuts on his shoulder blades and upper arms.

"They did some job on you." I try to keep the shock out of my voice, but I'm not so sure that I'm entirely successful. "You want some pain pills?" Or I could just kiss them better. I could kiss each single bruise and blemish, and I could kiss them very, very slowly. I don't know what it might do for Deeks, but it would sure make me feel on hell of a lot better, and that's the truth.

Deeks looks down at the constellation of bright purple bruises marring the smooth golden flesh of his torso almost in surprise, as if he'd forgotten about them; either he is blocking out the pain or he's numb. I can't decide which. It could be both. He has been through a lot and it's going to take some time for him to come back down and adjust to normality again. "Maybe later. They'd probably knock me straight out."

I remember that Deeks hasn't eaten for about forty hours. And it's been much longer since he slept properly. He's looking shattered now, in fact he looks fit to drop, so I push him towards the bed. "Sit down." He knows by the tone of my voice that resistance is futile and just does what he's told. And I take the towel out of his hands and start to rub his hair dry. Deeks sits there quietly, submitting meekly to my ministrations, with his eyes sliding shut, almost like a cat does when you start to stroke it. He's silent the whole time I'm drying his hair, and that's not normal – well, not for Deeks.

"Stay right where you are," I say as I finish up, hoping my voice is steady, although I'm none too sanguine about that. For a wonder, Deeks once again not only does what he's told, but he does it without saying anything. That's slightly worrying, because normally Deeks never stops talking. Maybe he's hurt worse than I thought? I'm going to have to check him out, just to make sure. I don't want him dying on me, not when we've gone to so much trouble to get him back. I especially don't want him dying here in my bed. That would be so awkward to explain.

First things first though. I get a comb and draw it slowly through his hair, watching as the dark gold strands bounce back into shape after they have been combed, falling into natural curls and waves. God, Deeks has good hair – he has such good hair. It's about time somebody on the team had good hair, apart from me, of course. It's hard to tell what Callen's hair is like, because he keeps it so short. All I can really say is that it is sort of medium mouse and short. Pretty non-descript, really. And Sam has no hair at all. He says that this is a personal choice, but I wonder about that. It could easily be that Sam is completely bald. But Deeks has great hair – it is thick, and a whole range of colours, going from dark blond, through the gold of a field of wheat ripening under the summer sun and then right up to almost baby-fair. There are curls starting to form at the nape of his neck by the time I've finished and he just looks so cute that I am sorely tempted to reach down and kiss them. But I don't, because that wouldn't be fair, not to Deeks and not to myself. I can't go there, because that would ruin everything. I am tempted though. Like I said, he has fabulous hair. I let my hand rest on the nape of his neck for a long moment, and he leans into my touch

Then I get the antiseptic from the bathroom and make sure those cuts are properly clean. A hiss of pain escapes from Deeks' mouth when the first wound is cleansed.

"Sorry." He sounds slightly breathless. I'm sorry too: sorry that he was hurt and sorry that I'm adding to his pain.

"There's no need to apologise. This has to hurt." I move on to tend the second wound, and he tenses up his whole body as the antiseptic stings, but he manages to stay silent throughout the procedure. Deeks has great shoulders – they are broad and well-muscled, and of course they are tanned to perfection. And the fact that he doesn't have much in the way of body hair is even better. There is nothing like a man with hairy shoulders to turn your stomach over, like you've just smelt sour milk or something equally unpleasant. And as for guys with hair on the back of their hands, so that it looks as if they're wearing furry gloves – well, all I can say is 'yuk'. Or maybe 'yuk and double yuk'. There's no need for that. Deeks has lovely hands, and of course they are hair-free. I could never let a man with hairy hands touch me.

At last I'm finished, and he relaxes a little as I screw the cap back onto the bottle of antiseptic.

"Lie down." I try to keep my voice as casual as possible

"Why?" Deeks looks at me suspiciously. "Are you trying to seduce me, Ms Blye?" There's the merest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

I get the film reference, but he's wrong on both counts. First of all, I am younger than Deeks. And second, if I wanted to seduce him, he wouldn't be sitting on my bed right now, wearing those linen pants, that's all I'm saying. Oh no: he'd be in my arms and those pants would be on the floor.

"In your dreams, Deeks."

"Is that you giving me permission to dream about you?" How can that seemingly sweet and innocent face look so depraved? And how come we are back to Deeks fantasising about me? Didn't we just go there not so long ago?

"No, it's not. It's me wanting to check you've not broken any ribs." I put the flat of my hand on his chest and push hard, so that Deeks falls backwards onto the bed, making a small noise of protest. For a moment he lies there, looking up at me with eyes that are wide and round with surprise.

"I told you: I'm fine. Honest, Kensi. You don't need to do that." Deeks tries to sit up, so there's nothing for it but to kneel over him, my legs on either side of his hips and push my butt down to hold him in place

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" I start gently feeling all his ribs, trying to be gentle, but there's a lot of bruising and it has to hurt. Deeks lies as still as he can and stares up at the ceiling, with this look on his face, as if he's concentrating very hard on something. "Right, so your ribs feel like okay." Well, they're not broken at any rate.

"I told you I was fine. Will you get up off me now?" This is said between clenched teeth. I don't know what's wrong with Deeks, I really don't. I'm sure that examination was painful, but why does he need to make such a big deal about it? And why does he have such a peculiar expression on his face?

"No. Let me just check your belly." He could have internal bleeding or anything. I've no idea how I would know if he had internal bleeding, but that's not the point, is it? I've got to check. I sit just a little more firmly on him, just to make sure he doesn't try to anything funny, like escape. I begin to palpate his abdomen with the flat of my hand, just like I've seen the doctors do a hundred times on shows like _ER_. Okay, they're not real doctors, just actors – but you get my point. I can't help noticing how there is a slim line of dark blond hair running down from Deeks' navel and then disappearing into the waistband of those pants. Okay, most times I find body hair a turn-off, but he's got exactly the right amount. Deeks also has a decent six- pack, I'll say that for him. Even if it is mainly an assorted series of different shades of purple, mauve and red right now. And the way his hip bones jut out, and that line that marks the edge of his hip bone – I've always found that incredibly sexy. I just find Deeks sexy, even if he is kind of maimed right now. And he's also my partner. I have to remember that. He is my partner and I can't go there, no matter how much I might want to. Even if he is sex on a stick.

"You're killing me here, Kensi," Deeks says, in an almost strangulated voice and I suddenly realise what he's making such a fuss about. I can't think why I didn't notice it before, given how obvious it is. How very pressingly obvious…

Oh. My. God. Can I just die now, please? How could I be so stupid? How could I not realise that I was… well, you know. Where I was sitting. And that he was… and you definitely know what I mean. Do not make me write this down. Leave me with a few shreds of dignity, please

I realise why Deeks was getting so worked. Because he is worked up. And here I though he was being a bit of a baby about me examining him. Deeks is no baby, that's for sure. On the contrary, Deeks is definitely a big boy. A very big boy indeed. And those linen pants are really rather thin, and they are hanging low on his hips, so there is nothing left to the imagination. Absolutely nothing. I'd only sat down on him to stop him getting away from me, that's all. And that last sentence didn't quite turn out the way I meant it to. Damn. Serves me right for getting so carried away by dreaming about his body that I'd didn't realise what was going on right under my nose. Or rather, right under my butt. Damn, damn, damn.

"You're fine." I try to sound professional as I get up and Deeks pulls a quilt over himself protectively. "Although your belly's kind of concave, like you're half starved, or something. How about I go heat up some soup?" What the hell must he think? How could I be so dense and let myself get so carried away that I didn't notice what I was doing to him? Still, it does prove one thing: he likes me. Or as Sally Field might say: he really likes me.

"That sounds good." Deeks is looking decidedly pink about the cheeks and there is a decided air of relief when he says that. I can't exactly blame him. Talk about the ultimate embarrassing situation.

I escape to the relative safety of my kitchen and eventually manage to uncover a can of soup and the remains of a loaf of bread that isn't too mouldy. Anyway, mould is a form of penicillin, so it might even do those wounds of his some good. I think it through and decide it is not my fault. What else was I supposed to do? Let him lie there and die or something? And if he likes me that much – why on earth didn't he do something about it – like pull me into his arms and kiss me? Deeks had his chance. He had plenty of chances and he didn't take a single one of them. What's wrong with him? He likes me – I know he likes me. So why didn't he just do something? How often does he think he's going to get into my bed? This was his one and only time and he blew it – he blew it big time. By the time the soup is warmed through and poured into bowls there is still no sign of Deeks, so I go back through to my bedroom.

He's still there. He's still in my bed and I'm standing beside it looking down and feeling just like Baby Bear, because Goldilocks is sound asleep in my bed. Some people think I'm kind of cold and heartless. They don't know me at all. Would a cold, heartless person let Deeks stay the night in her bed? While she sleeps on the sofa? I don't think so.

I do have a spare room, in fact I'd even considered letting Callen stay with me, just to give Sam a break (before Sam warned me off. I'm beginning to wonder if Sam had ulterior motives though). The only problem is that it's kind of difficult to open the door to my spare room and it's almost impossible to actually get inside, because I've got rather a lot of clutter. When I'm tidying up, that's where I tend to shove all the stuff I pick up from the living room – the stuff that won't fit behind the sofa, or in the cupboards. I don't like throwing anything out, because you never know when it might come in useful. So my spare room is jam-packed with things I might need one day. There's nothing wrong with being prepared (I was a great Girl Scout, you can probably tell that, can't you?).

Anyway, Callen has been staying over with Sam, so there's no big deal about Deeks staying over with me, is there? It's what partners do, and that's a fact. You help each other out. That's all there is to it. There is absolutely nothing more to it than that and you can take my word for it. And you know you can trust me, because the government lets me carry a concealed weapon and shoot people and they even pay me for it. And that proves my point conclusively, doesn't it? End of argument. Not that I need to justify myself.

Anyway, getting back to Deeks: there he was, curled up on one side, with his hand tucked underneath his cheek, snuggled cosily underneath my quilt. Like I said earlier, the guy was shattered and he looked like he needed to sleep for about a week. He's been under a lot of stress, his body's been abused and he just needs a peaceful night's sleep. What was I supposed to do – wake him up and send him away? Yeah, right. Even Attilla the Hun would have had second thoughts about doing that. I tiptoe back out, as quietly as possible, and if there was a big, goofy smile on my face – so what? Deeks looked cute – he looked really cute, just like a little boy. I'm only human, after all. I've got feelings too. Even if I do hide them most of the time. I learned not to give my heart away a long time ago and I know that if I want to survive, I've got to keep my heart in hiding. But tonight I could make an exception for Deeks, because he's been to hell and back, and there is just something about the way he looks, lying there fast asleep, that makes me want to comfort him. But I walk away, and I shut the door behind me, leaving him in peace.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday 29<strong>**th**** September 2010**

I have to start saving up, because this couch is killing my back and it's got to be replaced. I half suspected that the springs were gone, and now I am certain they are. You can imagine that this is not exactly conducive to a sound sleep, which is probably why I hear Deeks in the early hours of the morning. The sounds coming from my room jerked me from slumber into awakeness almost instantly and I run through to him, not caring that I was only wearing an ancient and completely ratty old t-shirt. That was how desperate he sounded. It seemed that even Deeks had to let go sometimes, and when he was asleep that mask he puts on had finally slipped. All his fears and worries were coming out in his dreams and he was babbling incoherently. Worse than that, he was screaming. I couldn't make out any of the words, but his terror was obvious. You try living for over eighty days and never being able to totally relax for even one hour of any of those days, and see how you feel at the end of it. And if you're doing any better than Deeks, feel free to get in touch with me and maybe we can patent your system and make a fortune.

"Deeks." He was sitting bolt upright, eyes wide open, although he was asleep and I was perched on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and holding his shoulders. "Deeks – it's over. It's over and you're safe. Everything's fine." His entire body was rigid with fear and his hands shot out and clutched mine. I noticed a tear trickling down his cheek, and that did it for me. That got to me in a way nothing else could ever have done. Deeks had no resistance at all, his soul was laid open to me, completely bare, with all the pretence wiped clean away – and he knew nothing about it, nothing at all, because he was still in the grips of whatever smothering dreams had stripped him bare. I reached out and pulled him into my arms and I comforted him.

"You're safe. I'm with you. I'm right here." I was crooning to him now, rocking back and forwards and he was in my arms, resting his head against my shoulder. I'd heard of people talking in their sleep before, but I had never witnessed it. I couldn't imagine how he could go through that sort of terror and still not wake up. A barrage of sensations was bombarding my mind and my body, but the overwhelming emotion, the one that sang out most clearly was that I just wanted him to be safe. I just wanted to protect him and make it all go away.

Eventually, Deeks quietened down, and then he relaxed bonelessly back against the pillows. "Really?" His voice was strangely distant and his eyes were starting to cloud over as he sank back down into sleep.

"Yes, really. It's over. Everything's fine." I realised that I was still holding his hand.

"Stay." He was mumbling now and the strained look was disappearing from his face, but Deeks held onto my hand as if he would never let it go. To tell the truth, I didn't want him to let it go either.

So what else could I do? I got into bed beside him, and I held him, like a mother would hold her child. It was that pure and that innocent. Deeks needed to feel safe and who was I to argue with that? There was still this crease of worry between his eyebrows and I reached out and gently stroked it away as he gradually relaxed. And then I wept silent tears for what this job and this society does to good men like Deeks – how it reduces them to helplessness, haunted by unspeakable horrors they can only give voice to during the safety of darkness. Big boys do cry, and so do big girls. Anyone says they don't cry is either a liar or a psychopath.

I'll get up before dawn breaks, and go back through to the couch. It wouldn't be fair to Deeks to do anything else. He's been through enough over the past few months, without me laying all this on him too. I'm just glad I was able to help him, in some small way. We won't talk about this, I know that. He doesn't need to know this ever happened. I can keep secrets, I have so many things hidden away so deeply that they will never see the light of day, I can assure you of that. It's best that way, I find. So I can identify with Deeks, I really can. He's a part of me now, and he always will be. We've made that connection – even if he did it unwittingly – even if he never knows.

It's been a long time since I just lay beside a man, and I'd forgotten how good it feels. The solid warmth of him, the way his breathing is steady and deep and how comforting it is to let my head rest on his chest and hear the slow, steady beat of his heart. Deeks mumbles a few more things, but he sounds quite happy now, and his arms tighten around me as I stroke his hair and let myself savour the moment. I've missed this closeness with a man, the feeling of warm skin touching warm skin, the feeling of safety and contentment that engenders. He smells of soap, and toothpaste and I could swear I can sense the faintest hint of the sea about him too, and maybe warm sand. But I'm probably imagining that. Lying here, our legs entwined and our arms around one another, it seems like I've known Deeks forever, that I was just waiting for him to come into my life and I could get used to this so easily. But already I can see the first shafts of light breaking across the sky and I know that I have to leave him. I knew this was only temporary, a truly transient state of affairs, but even so, I'm surprised at how much it hurts to leave him. Everybody hurts, you know. We are all wounded, in our different ways. It's just that some of us are better at hiding it than others.

When I get out of bed, Deeks murmurs something I can't quite catch, and his face sort crumples slightly as he moves into the space I've just vacated. And then he settles down again, and his face relaxes back into peace. I stand at the side of the bed for a long time, just watching Deeks sleep. He looks so good, lying there with his hair all tousled on my pillows, like a sleepy golden storm. And when dawn is fully broken and the darkness has finally ceded to the pale light of day, I go reluctantly back through to lie on my hideously uncomfortable couch, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why the world is so fucked up. It shouldn't have to be like this. It's going to be a beautiful day, judging from the clear skies, but what does that matter? Deeks is sleeping in my bed and I'm lying on the couch and we might as well be a whole continent apart for all the good that is doing me. Why does life have to be so complicated all the time? Why can't I just be happy for once in my life?

It would have been so easy just to stay in bed with Deeks, to fall asleep and then to wake up together, and make slow love, our kisses deep and warm as the sun poured in through the window. It would have been so easy, so wonderful – and so very wrong. That's never going to happen, I know that now. But it would have been great. And it would have been so very easy. It would be very easy to love Deeks, to let him love me and just to be lost in the moment. But moments do not exist in isolation – and that's the problem. We have to live with the consequences, and that is our tragedy.

* * *

><p>Later on, I phone Hetty and tell her we won't be in to work today.<p>

"My partner needs some time to heal. And I need to help him." That is the honest truth. There is no point in lying to Hetty, absolutely none at all. She will see straight through you, even if you are at the other end of a telephone line. Or even a cell-phone signal, or however the things work. I don't know and I don't particularly care. I leave all the techie stuff up to Eric, after all. As long as I can play Doodle Jump on my cell, I'm quite happy.

"And Mr Deeks needs you, my dear. I know you will take good care of him."

"I will, Hetty." Sometimes I truly love that woman.

I'll take such good care of Deeks that he will never know how close we came to making love. Because I think that if he ever found out that he had screamed out his fears and I had comforted him, then he would have to go straight back to LAPD, because he would feel he'd lost all credibility, that he was less than a man. Which is ridiculous. And he is not going back there, because that would not be good for his health. In fact, I'd give Deeks a survival rate of less than six months if he goes back. I won't let him go back and I certainly won't do anything that will force him to go back. So basically I do not have a choice. I have to do the right thing, pretend this never happened and say nothing. Because I care for the man. Although I will deny it until my dying day. Anyway, he's my partner, and that's the closest bond there is – just ask Callen and Sam. So of course I feel for Deeks – just like I'd feel for any partner. It's just that I feel slightly differently about Deeks, that's all. But everything is going to be fine and I will work through this. All I have to do is to try to work out exactly what I feel and then everything will be just fine. And I am Marie of Romania.*

Only you know the truth, my lovely, mute, ultra- security protected journal. If I don't tell someone, I think I might just go crazy. I've got the feeling that working with Deeks is definitely going to drive me crazy anyway. But I also think it might just be the wildest ride of my life and that it's going to be a whole load of fun. It won't be dull, that's for sure. I'll let you know how I get on – that's a promise.

I can hear sounds of life coming from my bedroom now. I'll give Deeks a few minutes, and then I'll make some coffee and take it through to him. And then I might casually suggest we go for a long walk. We might even go back to that beach he took me to yesterday. Why not? We've got the whole day ahead of us and we're young, free and single. We've got the whole world just waiting for us and it looks like it's going to be such a beautiful day. Absolutely anything is possible on a day like this.

* * *

><p><em>* Apologies to Dorothy Parker for using her wonderfully cynical line:<em>

_"Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,_  
><em>A medley of extemporanea;<em>  
><em>And love is a thing that can never go wrong,<em>  
><em>And I am Marie of Roumania."<em>


	11. Black Widow: part I

**Tuesday 5****th**** October 2010  
>Black Widow<strong>

We've spent the past few days getting to know each other, Deeks and I. Getting to know how we are going to work together, as partners, I mean. You have to work at a partnership – to make compromises, to appreciate how the other person thinks and to learn to trust them implicitly. You have to develop a bond that is so close, so trusting, that you put your partner's well-being and safety ahead of your own. You have to work together in harmony, in synchronicity. And in order to do that, you have to understand them. And there's the rub. How can you even begin to let someone know the real person that lies behind the façade, when you spend most of your life building up and then maintaining that pretence? Sometimes I struggle to remember who I am – who I really am. I've begun to wonder if I can even begin to separate my real self from Special Agent Kensi Blye. She is not me. Well, she is, but she is only a part of who I am. And in a lot of ways, she is my dark side, the evil that lurks in the shadows.

There are days when I wonder how much longer I can keep doing this job, days when all the pretending becomes too heavy a burden to bear and all the lies I am forced to maintain threaten to overwhelm me. And it is on days like these that I begin to wonder how much longer that I can go on pretending, how much longer it will be before the real me is completely subsumed by the persona I have been forced to adopt. Somedays I begin to wonder if I even exist any more as a person in my own right. Today was one of these days. And you are the only person I can tell. Callen and Sam – well, they inhabit their alter egos, and then they just seem to shrug them off, like a snake sheds its skin. And Deeks – well, he is still too close to that last operation, the one that saw his partner burnt to death in a car explosion; the one that nearly got him killed too. So this journal is the only place that I can record how I really feel.

Most of the time, I just accept that doing my job means that I have to be economical with the actualite. In other words, I have to be careful to not to let anything slip. My neighbours all think I work in the HR department of a federal agency. My friends, well I tell a variety of stories to them, but it's sort of variations on a theme, i.e. office-based work for the government. It's not too far from the truth after all – if you squint. And most of the guys I dated haven't been too bothered about what I do during the day – they're more bothered about what I'll do for them at night-time. Which is why they don't generally get a second date. Creeps. The only people I can really be myself with is my team here at NCIS. They are the people that know me best, the only people who can really understand what living this shadowy life of half-truths is like: how artificial it feels a lot of the time, how constraining it is to never be able to fully let your guard down. I don't know how Sam manages to keep it going with that mysterious wife of his. No wonder he's never let any of us meet her. Except Callen, of course. But we won't go there.

However, today was one of those days when I was chafing against the bit of my enforced secrecy. I was due to meet an old friend, my oldest friend, actually. We've known each other since we were kids and our dads' were stationed at Camp Lejeune together. She's married now, she's even got a kid. She's got the sort of life I always thought I would have. I know I would probably go mad with boredom or frustration, or maybe even both, if I was stuck in the suburbs, but there's a part of me that kind of thinks it would be nice, just to live normally for once. I'm not envious of her. Not really. Not all the time.

Anyway, I always make a special effort when we meet up for lunch, which isn't often. So today I changed into this tailored black dress. It was sexy and chic and although it didn't show anything untoward, it certainly hinted at what lay beneath. It went perfectly with my cover story, which is that I'm a curator at a gallery. Deeks was convinced that nobody would buy that, but he certainly changed his tune when I sauntered out in my black dress. He was almost lost for words – almost, but not quite. This was Deeks, after all. Deeks and silent are mutually exclusive terms.

Callen wasn't buying it either, only he didn't even bother to give a second look, he just breezed on past, as if I was just wearing any old thing, rather than this great dress. I was almost insulted by that. Almost.I bet Callen woudl notice if Sam came in wearing a new pair of pants. Callen even accused me of hazing the new guy – meaning Deeks – when I told him what my cover story was. Honestly, he really has to learn to let things go and move on. Deeks is part of the team now – he's one of us.

So I looked all haughty and I informed Callen that I'd chosen that cover because galleries are filled with cool, glamorous, sophisticated people. Okay, so the truth is that I wanted to appear so achingly hip that my friend would be jealous. That's mainly because there is a small part of me that is jealous of all she has and that I don't – like a husband who adores her and a child. It's only a tiny bit of envy, but you see the truth is that I bought into the myth that women can have it all, and it still hurts to realise that I can't. There is no way that I can do this job and have a husband, a child – and a meaningful relationship with them. How can you build a marriage based on a foundation of lies? I don't know how Sam does it, and I am afraid to ask.

Callen started to wonder out loud about how I could possibly pull off that cover with any degree of credibility, and he does have a point, seeing as I can't tell my Monet from my Manet. So I'm not that great on painters? Well, I can live with that. Do you know how many languages I speak? Or how about the fact I can strip down a rifle and reassemble it in less time than it takes most women to put on their lipstick. In fact, I can put on my lipstick with my eyes shut, if it comes right down to it. I've got the rest of my life to learn about art: right now what I need to do is to concentrate on the things that keep me alive. It's tough, being a woman in a man's world, part of me always feels like I have to prove myself, and the rest of me feels like I have to look good at the same time. It doesn't help that I am the only woman on the team. It might sound like a dream: working with three guys, and most of the time it is pretty good. But I do miss having another woman to talk to and confide in.

Deeks started musing about what has to be the most unlikely cover story ever – the time when he pretended to be a dentist, and that draws everyone's attention away from me. Doctor Deeks, DDS. How crazy does that sound? It turns out that rather than actually being a cover, it was just a line he was running for this girl he was dating – for three months. Now, three months is a long time. I wonder if he broke it off or if she did?

Before we can learn any more, Eric blows that whistle of his, and Deeks just about jumps out of his skin. We've got a case, and for once it isn't a dead Marine. This time it is a dead NCIS agent. One of our own has been killed, out in Cyprus. Thanks to the marvels of the internet, we can see all the surveillance footage from the hotel where they found his body. It doesn't take us long to work out that there was a whole team after Agent Williams. A very good team indeed. They were posing as bar staff, waitresses, customers and hotel residents: they knew exactly what they were doing, and they did it well. In fact, it was almost a clinical example of how to do a perfect hit. They got in, they did their jobs and they got out again. You can't ask for more than that.

We can all see the similarities between that team in Cyprus and our own team here in LA. We are not so very different, after all. We watched that footage and we saw so many people, all pretending to be something they were not, all hiding the fact they were dealing in death. Yet more secrets and lies, more duplicity. Nothing is ever quite what it seems in this game we play. Their team is good alright and a team like that doesn't come cheap. So what exactly did Williams know that made his death worth all that money? The answer might be in the message he sent to the NCIS cloud server, only the file got corrupted. So that's not going to be a whole heap of use – not until Eric gets it sorted out.

* * *

><p>In the meantime, it's down to us. One of the team that killed Williams was identified on the security cameras, more by bad luck than anything else. We saw his reflection in the bodywork of a car, would you believe. And if that is not a very good reason to shun the car washes with their exorbitant prices, I don't know what is. Our man was then tracked down to the US, courtesy of his passport. He's currently being held at LAX as part of a 'routine' procedure. Just bear that one in mind next time you're entering the country and they pull you out of the line at Immigration. Nothing is ever quite what it seems, and there is no such thing as a routine enquiry. Someone, somewhere is watching you. Of course, as long as you're not a contract killer, a drug dealer, a gun runner or anything like that, you'll probably be just fine. Just look at me: they never stop me and I've killed more people in my time with NCIS than I care to remember.<p>

Except that I do remember. I remember every single person I have ever killed. I shoot first, because that is my job. You never shoot second, because you don't know that you will be alive to take that shot. So I shoot first, and I only shoot when I have to. But the fact is that I kill people. I am officially tasked to go out and do my job my any means possible, including lethal force, if there is no other option. That's my job. The harsh reality is that I deal in death and I deal out death. And that is what I have to hide from the rest of the world. That's why I say that I work in HR. Do you really think the girl in the coffee shop would give me that friendly smile in the mornings if she knew I was preparing to go out and kill people after I've drunk my latte? I don't. In fact, I know she wouldn't. She would look at me with horror and revulsion and she would wonder how I can sleep at nights. Sometimes I wonder that too, but most of the time I am too tired to do anything except just fall into bed and collapse into sleep. This job takes it out of you, both physically and mentally. There are a lot of people who burn out under the pressure.

We stand there in Ops, discussing the latest case, and I am aware that each one of us is hiding something, keeping it repressed, not wanting to talk because we are scared that by bringing our fears out into the open, we will make them real. We stand there, my team and I: four seemingly-normal people, and we each carry a toll of death on our shoulders. And we all know the truth – that the longer you kill, the more vulnerable you become. When you take death on, you can only cheat it for so long. Sooner or later, death will come visiting: it will knock at my door and I will have to make a choice – do I open the door or do I lock it and hope death will simply go away again, for a little while. And then one day I will not even have that choice. So we stand there, and we formulate a plan, and we all know that death is going to be a part of plan. Today we will go out and do our jobs, and it is very likely that in the course of our duties we will kill people. We don't want to kill, we don't revel in it – but it is the truth that underlies everything we do and everything that I am.

Fact: I am a state-sanctioned killer and I have to live with this knowledge every single day of my life. All the slick, sexy outfits that I wear cannot hide that fact. All the carefully crafted aliases cannot disguise who I really am. I am the woman who walks hand in hand with death.

Last week, when Deeks spent the night at my apartment, I knew how he felt when he was in the grip of those faceless terrors that haunt your subconscious, because I have been there. I have lived that lie for too long and I have had to cope when reality came up and nearly swallowed me whole. I knew exactly how Deeks felt. It's as if you are adrift in an endless ocean, and there is no land in sight, there is just you and the ocean and there is a shark that is getting closer, that is circling around and just waiting to pounce. It is the inevitability that gets to me at times. But what is the alternative? If we do not do our job, if we do not go after this team of killers, then they will strike again. And again and again and again. They will keep on killing until they are stopped. And it is very likely that the only way we can stop them is by killing them. That is the reality. Can you see the irony? It is very likely that we will kill them. The difference is that they kill for money and we kill because we have to. And once we have dealt with this job, there will be another job, and another, and so on, until the last syllable of recorded time. It makes me tired just to think about it.

All these dirty little secrets we keep hidden away, like the fact that sometimes we hate what this job has made us become. And then we have to push that knowledge back down and swallow deeply so the bile cannot corrupt our souls, or tear away with acid-ferocity at our guts. And then we just get on with. There isn't really a choice. Not if people like you want to keep on leading your blameless lives in peace. Anyway, it looks my lunch date is off: I'll see if we can reschedule. I don't feel much like eating anyway: I've got a feeling I would choke. So I get changed, and if the cheerful orange-red scoop-necked t-shirt I put on gives the impression that I am happy, all to the good. Sometimes you need a little help to pass as a normal person, leading a normal life. No wonder I'm so crap at relationships: no wonder the one man I thought I could make a commitment to walked out on me. Half the time I don't know who I am, and the other half of the time I hate the person I am becoming. Who would ever fall in love with someone like me?

* * *

><p>This job smells dirty: it just has that reek of something duplicitous about it. Sam and Callen have managed to bring in the suspect from LAX, after he made an abortive attempt to evade them. He didn't get terribly far, of course. It turns out he used to be in the SAS – the ultra-secret British force – the legendary British Special Force, of Iranian Embassy siege fame, in fact. Great – so that means we are after a team that was set up by an expert in counter-terrorism, who has now turned to terrorism himself. See what I mean about all the ironies in this job? You are trained up and if one day you cannot bear to do the job any longer, you leave and find that your skills have only very limited employment opportunities.<p>

So this team is in town to do a job. They have been commissioned to perform a lethal action against a local target. Who just happens to be a local housewife from Sherman Oaks, with a husband and the obligatory cute kid, of course. She's about my age. Everywhere I look today there are women my age who have families. I can't let it get to me. Nothing about this hit makes sense. She has no criminal record and neither does her husband. Who would want to kill Emma Mastin and why are they prepared to pay top dollar to make sure she is dead?

Meanwhile, Deeks and I are uncovering links with a Chechen separist group. A very well-funded group. Having evaded publicity for nine years, even after the death of their founder and leader, VAkar, they are suddenly coming into the spotlight. There is no reason for them to suddenly come out into the open, unless they have a personal link with this case. So it looks like we're going to have to have a little talk with Mrs Mastin, in order to uncover whatever secrets she is hiding. I'm beginning to long for a nice, simple, straightforward case of drug dealing or arms smuggling, to be honest. This case is hitting too many raw nerves.

Eric managed to set off the Mastin's alarm system remotely and also to fix it so that Emma cannot disable it. And that is our cue to gain entry to the house without arousing suspicion. You can never be too careful. And that is how Deeks and I went out as partners for the very first time. I had to set down some ground rules for Deeks, because we had to start as we meant to go on. First of all: I drove. And then I explained that I'd be taking point – in other words, that I would be the lead. After all, I have the credentials: Deeks might have done two years with the LAPD robbery division, but I came top of the urban counter-surveillance course at Quantico. I wasn't bragging when I said that: I was just stating a fact. I have nothing to prove, absolutely nothing. So there was no need for Deeks to accuse me of playing a game of one-upmanship with him, because I don't do that sort of thing. Not even with Deeks, no matter what he might think. But I was kind of taken aback by how cool and easy he was about this whole job. He wasn't ruffled in the slightest and it was like he'd been doing this for years. And I know he was a cop, but this is different – completely different. The first few months I was on the job I was a nervous wreck. So why isn't Deeks more nervous? And why does he think that I'd need to prove I'm better than him? I know I'm good. And I'm the senior partner in the relationship. Or partnership – or whatever this thing we have is.

I knock at the door and wonder how I am going to tell this perfectly normal housewife that someone has put out a contract on her life. How do you explain to a civilian that her death is so important to someone that they are willing to pay one hell of a lot of money to get the best assassins I've ever seen to travel halfway around the world to kill her? It doesn't make sense. Only it does. Because we discover that Emma Mastin is not just a housewife: once upon a time she used to be just like me. She was a trained killer, only she got away and she reclaimed normality. She's got a house, a child and a perfectly normal life now. She did it. Of course, now she's also got at least six people who want her dead. It's not that easy to get away from your past –it has a nasty habit of catching up with you when you are least expecting it.

I tell Emma that we are here to help, but that she needs to work with us and she looks at me incredulously.

"Sometimes it is easier to leave the lie in place," she says.

And I look across at Deeks, who is playing with Emma's son as if they are old friends, and I know exactly what she means. There are some things that should always remain hidden, that should never be spoken about… she has her past, and I have mine. I also have my memories of one night, just one single night, where nothing happened – and yet it meant everything. And now that deception is forming a barrier between us. I can feel myself building protective walls around me, because I'm afraid of what I feel for Deeks. And I'm even more afraid that he doesn't feel the same way about me. So the easiest thing to do is to pretend that nothing happened, and that I feel nothing for him. We work together, that's all. There's nothing more. There is nothing between us. Which is a pity, but that's life. And right now I hate this job and I hate everything about my life. I don't want to keep living this lie for the rest of my life and yet I can't se any escape. I don't want to end up like Hetty – living under a multitude of aliases, living in at least three different houses and living alone. I don't want to be alone any more. I am so lonely, so terribly lonely and there is nobody I can talk to, nobody who will understand.

* * *

><p><em>Wow. This chapter turned out to be very dark indeed.<em>  
><em>The truth is that the team do kill - and I believe that this must weigh heavily on them. The episode was full of undertones about deceipt, deception, illusion and reality. Kensi's meeting with her friend serves to counterpoint just how far removed her life is for normality and Emma then proves to he that you can never really escape your past. Kensi has her doubts, her crisis of confidence just like anyone else, and I've attempted to show that here.<em>

_Anyway, I hope I didn't depress you all too much. Part Two will follow._


	12. Black Widow: Part II

Deeks keeps Joshua Mastin occupied while I talk to Emma and try to persuade her to help us. I can't help noticing how easily he interacts with the little boy. They're playing some video game together and it is kind of cute. Of course, Deeks can relate to children because all the indications are that he's never really grown up himself. He's a big kid living in a man's body. A very hot man's body, but that is beside the point and besides which, I have hardly noticed his body. Other than that he is fit, which is a pre-requisite for the job. You might even say that I've taken a purely professional interest in his body.

Kids – well, I've not had much experience with kids. I'm an only child and we moved around a lot when I was growing up. But I'm a woman, and basically we are genetically programmed to want to nurture. So part of me is torn between wanting my career and wanting babies. Most of the time I can suppress these urges, because what is the point in thinking about having a baby when I don't even have a man? But today is different. Today, this case and everything that has happened is having an effect on me that I cannot ignore. It is making me acknowledge all these emotions that exist inside me, no matter how hard I might try to deny them. I have to concentrate very hard indeed so that my mind does not start creating all these fantasies where Deeks and I are together and we have a child. Because there is no way that is going to happen. First, we aren't a couple and we are never going to be. That would never work. Second (and this is the killer – no pun intended, although it shows just how my subconscious mind is working) – how could I have a child? Or, more precisely – how could I have a child and still keep doing this job? It's not going to happen, so why am I torturing myself like this? But it is no use, I can't help thinking about how Deeks and I would probably have really beautiful babies – tall and strong, and so pretty it would break your heart. For a brief second I have visions of little girls with deep brown hair and eyes that look like forget-me-nots and of small boys with dark, secretive eyes and golden curls that catch the sunlight. I know these children are not real and that they will never be real, but a part of me yearns for them. My over-active imagination is a curse, not a blessing.

I try to convince Emma that we can help her, but she is adamant that Vakar will not give up easily and that even if we stop this particular team, then he will send another. And then another. She is convinced that the only way we can stop this once and for all is to use her as bait. She says this with complete sincerity and absolute conviction. And as she speaks, her eyes never leave her child, not for one instant. She is doing it for him, for Joshua. I realise that there is a relationship which transcends that of partners – that of a mother and her child. It's a pity I'll never be able to discover that for myself. Not that it played out that way in my own life: I was always Daddy's girl. Until he died and left this huge, gaping hole in my life that no man has ever been able to fill. I often think that the only man a girl can really trust is her father. My father died much too young – I was only fifteen. In a couple of years, I will have been longer without him than all the years I spent with him. But I will never stop loving him. Never.

Emma has more secrets and lies than even I could dream of. She has been living the ultimate life of deception and deceit, for she used to a Black Widow, which is basically a young woman, trained by the KBG to become a suicide bomber. They took advantage of her grief and created something deadly out of it. But Emma was smart – she got out. She made a new life for herself. Only now her past has come back to haunt her and all those lies she spun so carefully into a cover story can no longer protect her. But now she is not concerned about herself – she is only thinking about Joshua. Emma will do anything to protect Joshua. And Joshua is the key to all of this. He is Vakar's son, and the file Williams sent to the cloud server just before he was killed is a sonogram. Vakar wants to kill Emma so that he can get his son. This is not about arms, or drugs or even money, it is about the oldest instinct in the world – wanting a child, a part of you that will continue down all the days.

So now we know everything. Emma might look like a soft target, but she is not. Far from it. She is a professional and she has not lost her proves that she has not forgotten a single bit of her training. Once an assassin, always an assassin, I guess. There are some things that you cannot shake off, like always looking over your shoulder, never letting your guard down, always shooting first, and always shooting to kill. Emma has lived an anonymous, totally normal life for seven years, but she eases back into her old identity as easily as if she is putting on a familiar and comfortable pair of shoes. She had seven years – but that is hardly any time at all. Just seven years. If Emma can't manage it, what hope is there for me?

* * *

><p>Emma saunters through the market, looking like any other well-heeled shopper. Nobody would guess that she knows there is an assassin lying in wait for her, or that there is a whole squad of NCIS operatives waiting to pounce. I know how tense she must feel, but she does not betray any nerves, not even when the hit does not materialise. That woman is possibly the best operative I have ever seen and I cannot help admiring her – her skills, her bravery, her hope for the future and, most of all, her love for her son.<p>

The operation does not go as planned – because although Callen infiltrated the other team, they were playing a double bluff. I told you they were good. They were very possibly even better than us, but today we had luck on our side. Deeks and I followed Emma home, and we ran straight into an ambush. Luck was on our side today – or perhaps it was on Emma Mastin's side? Not that it makes much difference either way. It was a close run thing though. It could have easily turned out differently, so that it was Emma Mastin and the NCIS team who were the ones lying dead on a road in Sherman Oaks, rather than our enemy counterparts. Death does not discriminate between those who break the law and those who uphold it. The difference between life and death can be measured in inches, or in seconds. Today we were lucky. We know that.

However, Emma Mastin's luck ran out. Her brave new world was broken beyond repair and she has to try to start again, under a witness protection programme. I don't envy her… and yet I do. She and I are so alike. We even look a little alike. But there is one huge difference between us: Emma has a husband and a son: she has their love and that is priceless. She has so much and I have so little and for a moment I want to be her, to have all that she has in her life – to have all these things I know I will never have.

As we drive back to the Mission, I feel hollow inside, and it is not just because I have killed again today. I did what I had to do – nothing more, nothing less, but there is yet one more death chalked up against my account and one day I will be called to account for that. No, my feeling of interior emptiness is because today I am an empty shell called Special Agent Kensi Blye and the real me is fighting to reach the star-stained heights far above me, always out of reach. But my wings are bent and battered and they will not carry me, so I am lying in the gutter just staring up at everything I want and cannot have. But at least I know the stars are there and I will not cease, I will keep on fighting and I will never give up. One day I want to have the dream: I want to have it all. Nobody can ever tell me my dream is useless. You should know by now that the fastest way to make me do something is to tell me it is impossible, it is beyond my grasp. On days like these, it is only my dreams that keep me going. It is on days like these that I dream of all the things that might have been. Tomorrow will be different, I am determined to make that true. Tomorrow I will not dwell on the irony that I take lives when what I really want to do is to give new life. But today – today is different. Some cases just hit you harder than other, because they hit a tender nerve inside you, one that is deep and almost hidden, but which still hurts.

* * *

><p>After it was over, we went back to her house and Emma looked at me in something approaching despair. She is only too aware that her perfect new life has fallen apart and she can see everything slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. I tell her that her husband will understand, that the truth will not pull them apart: rather it will pull them closer together. I think she believe me, though God only knows why. I didn't think I was that good a liar. I just wish that I could make myself believe it as well. All the secrets and lies I keep are threatening to overwhelm me and I am just so tired of pretending. More than anything I wish that there was someone I could talk to, someone who could help me.<p>

Joshua is already in protective custody, Emma must now tell her husband everything: her past, what happened today and their future under the witness protection scheme. They have less than an hour before they must leave their old life in Sherman Oaks forever. I wonder if they will make it and I wonder what her husband will make of all this and what decisions he will make. Poor guy, he doesn't know what is about to hit him, for the fact is that he must leave his old life, whether or not he chooses to go with Emma and her son. He has to start again, with a completely new identity if he wants to stay alive. Vakar will not stop looking and he will kill anyone who gets in his way.

As I leave the house, I hear Emma's voice, her faltering voice as she tries to explain, to condense seven years of lies into a few coherent sentences. I wonder how she can ever find the words to tell him they have been living a lie. And I wonder how her husband will ever to be able to believe that anything about their marriage has been true – including her love. I hope they are able to work through this, but I can't help feeling that some secrets should be left undisturbed. I lied to Emma, you see. It was a bare-faced lie. A lie might bring people together in the first place, but once revealed it will always lie there between you, festering away, destroying anything you once might have had. I know what I'm talking about, but please don't ask me how. I don't want to have to lie to you too.

Before all this started, Hetty and I had discussed our life of secrecy and I thought back to that conversation, and how she had tried to convince me that our cover-stories were necessary if we were not to live like hermits. I'd said then that a cover-story was just a more dignified way of lying, and I still believe that. Sam is married, but his wife does not know the truth about her husband. One day she will find out, and that is the day she will discover that she has been living a lie for all of her married life. How will she feel about Sam then? I know how I would feel: I would feel betrayed and my love would wither instantly. There has to be another way of living this life, doesn't there? I didn't buy it then when Hetty assured me that if someone loved you then a lie wouldn't matter and I still don't, even when I trotted out the same platitude to Emma. Of course, there is the distinct possibility that Hetty was lying to me when she said that. We live so many lies that sometimes it is difficult to distinguish the truth. Just for once, I want to be able to trust somebody implicitly and have them trust me.

* * *

><p>My re-scheduled meeting with my friend does not go well: I should have left it for another time, a time when I am less conflicted, because I blew it. She saw straight through my cover story. And her child was there too, and behaving like a little hellion, which didn't help matters. Hetty is waiting for me when I get back to the Mission, although the rest of the team is long gone. She looks at my black dress and high heels and the matching black look on my face.<p>

"It gets easier, right?" I ask her and I try very hard not to sound as if I am begging.

"Yes." Hetty is good at being succinct. She's good at most things, to be honest. You name it, and Hetty has probably done it. With the exception of a long-term, meaningful relationship, of course.

"You're lying." If it was that easy, then why is she alone? Why isn't there something more in her life?

"Am I?" She raises her eyebrows quizzically, and it is almost as if she is challenging me, but I'm not in the mood for either discussions or arguments, so I walk back outside, without bothering to change. What's the point? This sums up my life: I'm a beautiful woman, I'm all dressed up but I've got nowhere to go and there is no-one to go there with me. I leave work alone, just like I do everyday and walk out into the empty night.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday 5<strong>**th**** October 2010  
>Black Widow: Epilogue<strong>

And just when I thought today had reached its lowest point, the earth opens up and we plunge a few feet further down. Deeks is waiting for me, he is standing by my car with an expectant look on his face. His timing sucks – just like my life. Like I said, I'm not in a mood for discussions or arguments: I just want to go home and forget today ever existed.

"Hey, Kensi." He has changed, I noticed – he's wearing dark trousers and a white shirt. Wow. Deeks has actually made an effort, even if the shirt is untucked. And his monochrome colour scheme matches mine. It has been a long day, and I could be wrong, but I rather think that he might even have brushed his hair. Wonders will not cease. The age of miracles has not yet passed.

"It's been a long day, Deeks." I just want to go home and forget all about today. Tomorrow I will start again but heaven knows, I'm miserable now.

"I know. And it's been tough on you, right?" His eyebrows disappear up into his hair and I could be wrong, but Deeks sounds sincere. He might even sound as if he cares.

"I've had better days," I agree cagily. I'm not going to commit myself to anything. I hardly know this man after all.

"So how about I change all that?" I notice that Deeks is tossing something up in the air, throwing it idly from hand to hand without looking. And I realise it is a set of car keys. My car keys, to be precise. For sheer effrontery, this beats everything. Who the hell does Deeks think he is?

* * *

><p><em>The epilogue will continue tomorrow - you didn't think I'd leave it there, did you? No, Kensi is hurting right now, and she needs someone to be there for her. And who better than her partner?<em>


	13. Black Widow: Epilogue

_The epilogue continues... I'm going to aim to do a WHN epilogue for each episode, just to take things that little bit further._

* * *

><p>I push my temper down, push it right down where it can lie with all the other darkness I keep hidden and just hold my hand. "My keys. Now, Deeks."<p>

Deeks stops tossing the keys back and forward, but he doesn't give them to me. Instead, he holds them in the palm of his hand and his fingers curl around them – his long, supple fingers. "Kensi: you're hurting," he says in a quiet voice that is almost an undertone. All the normal lightness and humour I've grown accustomed to is absent.

"Deeks – I just want to go home." I am not going to argue with him, mainly because I have this awful feeling that if I do, there is a good chance I might just burst into tears. That is how much this day has got to me: it has stripped away all my defences. And I am not going to let Deeks see me cry. No way.

"No, you don't. I know you don't." Deeks looking straight at me, and it feels like he can see through all the protective layers I've constructed. It feels as if he is peeling them away, one by one, to reveal the wounded woman that lies beneath and I don't want him to go there.

"You don't know anything about me, Deeks." I wish he would stop looking at me like that.

"But I could. And I'd like to." The solemn look disappears and there is a hint of a smile. "Didn't you ever play 'let's pretend' when you were a kid?"

Okay – that one came straight out of left-field. I just look at Deeks, wondering what the hell he is going on about and why we just seem to have slipped into an alternate universe. I might be lost for words, but Deeks isn't. The day he isn't talking fit to burst is the day I am seriously worried about him. He holds the keys out invitingly, so that they are dangling from his finger.

"How about we meet up – and pretend that we have never met before? We go to some club, we have a couple of drinks and we talk? As Kensi and Marty. That's it. Nothing more. We're just two people who have never met before."

"That's it? There's no catch?" There has to be a catch, doesn't there? There's either a catch, or he is setting me up.

"That's it. And there's no catch. Well, we might have to dance, I guess." He gives a rueful shrug, as if he's trying to be modest or something.

"I can dance." Of course I can dance. I am a great dancer, because dancing is one of the ways I can relax. I can be myself when I dance, let all my feelings out and lose myself in the music. When I'm dancing, I don't need to pretend any more.

"And it would be a shame to waste that dress." Deeks is wheedling now, or cajoling – or something. He's doing something and it's hard to resist. Of course, he has a point. He has a very good point. Actually, he has several. What do I have to lose? I could go home, sit and run over everything that happened today and wonder when my life turned into this one-way street to nowhere, or I could have a couple of drinks and try to dance away my heartaches. There's no contest really. And this is a great dress, even if Callen didn't even give it so much as a second glance. Which is his loss, really. Maybe he's just mad because Hetty has put a spoke in the burgeoning bromance he's got going with Sam by making Callen move into his own place? It must have really hurt Callen to have to part with all that money – hurt him right in the wallet.

I decide that I'd better set out a few ground rules, so that we both know exactly where we stand. "Just so you are clear, Deeks: this is not a date. Understand?" Because there is no way I would go out with him. Not ever. Deeks is not my type – he never was and he never will be. But he is my partner.

"Message received, loud and clear."

"And we don't talk about this. Not ever. Not to anyone. And especially not Sam and Callen."

"Agreed. And you've got to promise not to take advantage of me, because nice boys don't put out on the first date."

"Deeks." I can feel the tip of foot just itching to make contact with his groin.

"I'll be good. And you can be careful."

I could be wrong, because it is dark and it's hard to see clearly, but I think there might just be the merest hint of a twinkle in his eyes. I take my car keys and watch him walk over to his own car and all the time I am wondering what the hell I've got myself into now and why I just can't seem to say 'no' to Deeks. But my pulse is beating frantically and I am driving just a little too fast and suddenly today has got a whole lot better.

* * *

><p>It's midweek, so the club isn't particularly busy. The lights are low as I make my way towards the bar; I can feel my hips swaying in time to the beat of the music and I realise that tonight I want to dance. I haven't felt like this for a long time. It's not difficult to catch the barman's eye and just as I'm ordering my drink, I can feel someone come to stand behind me.<p>

"Let me get that for you." He orders a drink for himself and I can't help noticing that we drink the same thing. That doesn't mean anything, of course it doesn't. It is just one of those meaningless co-incidences that spring up out of nowhere and assume an importance that is out of all proportion to their insignificance.

I don't have to turn around to see who it is, because I would know that voice anywhere. I can feel his hip brush against mine as Deeks comes to stand beside me. And there are so many mirrors in this place I can see our reflections quite clearly. We do look good together, even I have to admit that. We even look as if we should belong together.

"Thank you." I look straight ahead so that our eyes meet in the mirror and I give him a half smile, not quite sure of where this is going.

"I'm Marty." There is a flash of white as he smiles at me, but I can't help noticing that his eyes are guarded, almost as if he's uncertain of himself. But maybe that is just a trick of the light. Or the fact that I am looking at his reflection, an altered perception of reality. This feels unreal and it feels slightly dangerous, as if it could go anywhere. I could stop this right now, if I wanted to.

"And I'm Kensi. It's nice to meet you, Marty." What do I have to lose? I don't want this to stop. I want to see how far this is going to go.

We go over to a table in a quiet corner, and as we walk Deeks rests his hand lightly on the small of my back. Only he isn't Deeks, not tonight. Tonight he is Marty and we are two strangers whose eyes met in the mirror behind a bar. I can feel the warmth of his hand permeating through the material of my dress and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. We sit down and I start to say something, I have no idea what. I feel as nervous as a high-school kid out on her first date and I am probably talking complete nonsense. That doesn't seem to matter, because Deeks leans forward, listening intently to what I'm saying, letting me talk, listening as if I am disclosing all the secrets of the universe to him, or as if I am the only woman in the world. It's slightly unnerving, and I find that I can't look directly at him for some reason, so I look down and focus on the way he is holding his glass, the way his fingers curve around it, almost as if he is caressing it. Most men don't want to listen when you talk, you know. They are waiting for you to finish so that they can start to talk about themselves, constructing elaborate stories that are designed to demonstrate how desirable they are; how rich they are; how socially well-connected they are. And all these stories have one purpose: to get you into bed with them as quickly as possible. You have to remember that LA is an industry town and you can bet your last dollar that half the people here tonight are here so that they can be seen. Everyone is acting, pretending that they have these amazing lives, that they are about to become the next big thing. All I want is to be normal – but exactly what constitutes normal in LA, where artifice is not just an art-form, it is a way of life?

"You used to be a lawyer," I say, realising that I've probably been rambling and that it is time to stop talking about myself before I give away too much.

"For a while," he agrees cautiously. My abrupt change of subject seems to take him by surprise and he sits up a little straighter.

"You don't look like a lawyer."

"Do you know, that's almost exactly what they said when I turned up for my first day at work?" He brushes his hair back from his eyes with his left hand. I've noticed that he does that a whole lot and wonder why he just doesn't get it trimmed? I've got a pair of nail scissors in my desk at back at work and it would only take a couple of minutes. Except that Sam and Callen would never let us hear the end of it.

The drink is loosening my tongue now. "I'll bet. If I had to guess, I'd say you were a surfer." For the first time since we came into the club, I look up to meet his eyes directly. Even with the subdued lighting I can see how blue they are, so blue that they make my heart hurt.

"And you'd be right. Looks like you can see right through me, Kensi. Only surfing doesn't pay the bills."

I knew he was a surfer, right from the first time we met. "I've never surfed."

"Maybe I could teach you?"

What an image that creates. I can see the scene so clearly now: me, Deeks (sorry, Marty), a deserted beach (yeah, right) and one of those perfect California days when there isn't a cloud in the sky. The waves are pounding on the shore and my heart is pounding in time to them as Marty comes out of the ocean, kind of like Ursula Andress in _Dr No_, only he's wearing this wetsuit. He doesn't know I am watching him, and he reaches around, tugs down the zipper and then peels down the suit to his waist. Next he shakes his head, so that droplets of water go flying through the air and finally he gives that sleepy smile. Okay, that is a really cheesy fantasy, like something a teen would have. But boy, it's a nice image. It's a very nice image indeed.

"Maybe. We'll see." My mouth is suddenly dry and I take a long swallow of my drink. "How about we dance?"

"I'd like that."

The dance floor is small, and although there are not a lot of people in the club, it is surprisingly crowded, so our bodies are very close. The music is loud, so we can't talk any more, well, not with words, that is. We have to let our bodies do the talking and Marty is hesitant, almost shy. He lets me take the lead, and I'm happy to do that, because I am in my element. You can't be inhibited on the dance floor, after all. So I get down to it, I do my thing and I realise that I can't remember the last time I had so much fun. After a couple of songs, the music slows right down and we are dancing together: my arms are clasped around his neck and his arms are folded around my waist. It means nothing, I know that, it is only a dance – but it feels so right. We are moving together and Marty is hitting all the right notes and making all the right moves. I turn my face to look up at him, and there is something naked in his eyes that sends a lightning jolt shooting straight through me.

How easy it would be to give in to this. I've done it before and I will probably do it again – hooking up with someone in a club. It would be so easy to kiss him. So easy and so wonderful. Right now I want him. I want him right now. But he's not just anyone. I can't go there. Tonight he might be Marty but tomorrow he will be Deeks and I cannot forget that he is my partner. Once we start to go down that road we can never turn back. Tonight I'm vulnerable, so I have to be careful. I can't do anything that might jeopardise this thing we seem to have, because I know that I need him. I want him and I need him and the two emotions are fighting each other.

"You're a good friend, Marty." I mean that. He's not pushing at all, he's letting me work it things out. He's there for me, in a way that nobody has been for such a long time. Up until now, I wasn't aware of exactly how lonely I was. But now I have him.

"Any time." He kisses me then, just a little kiss on the top of my forehead, leaning forward so that his lips barely brush against my skin. "Any time at all. All you ever have to do is ask."

"I know." I turn my head so that my cheek is resting against his chest and as we sway slowly in time to the music I feel as if we could dance right up to the edge of time together.

This isn't real, I know that. We're just pretending to be two people who meet briefly. It's just another chapter in the long line of deceptions that colour my life, but this time it is different, because we both know this is a game, and we are both willing players in that game. Nobody is getting hurt here, this is just an illusion we are weaving for one night only. Only I catch another glimpse of us in one of those mirrors and we look so good together that the breath catches in my throat. We look like a couple who have no secrets and who trust each other.

We turn and now I cannot see his face, because Marty is bending his head down towards me and he is pressing his face against mine and as I catch sight of our reflections again I wonder what he is thinking. I wonder what really goes on behind that wholesome face that appears so open and I wonder what secrets he is hiding. But this is not the time or the place for these questions. Tonight is about Kensi and Marty. I will deal with Deeks tomorrow, when we are back at work. But tonight belongs to us. I lean in a little closer and I feel his arms tighten around me and I do not want this night to ever end.

* * *

><p>Eventually, we leave. We're both working tomorrow, and it is already past 2 am. We leave, even though I feel as if I could dance all night.<p>

"I had a great time." Once again his hand is resting in the hollow of my back.

"Me too. It was good meeting you, Marty."

"We could do it again, sometime? If you want to?" He sounds uncertain, as if the spell is dissolving around us and he is anticipating a rebuff.

I smile at him and then lean forward and kiss gently him on the cheek, a safe, chaste kiss. "I think I'd like that, Marty." I keep saying his name, as if I am trying to underscore the fact that this is not about us, it is about two strangers, who danced for a couple of hours, had a few drinks and then danced some more. This has nothing to do with Kensi and Deeks. We are not them tonight, we're just two people who made a connection when they needed to.

He walks me to my car, under the serious moonlight and I realise that Hetty was right after all Sometimes a lie can actually bring you closer together, but only if you are both complicit in that deception. And I realise that now Deeks and I have a secret we are going to have to keep from the rest of the team. Somehow, I don't think they would understand. But that's fine, because I don't think I want anyone else to know. I want this to be between me and Deeks. Or is that Marty? I'm not entirely sure who I'm with or what I'm doing , but I do know that I feel happy, truly happy, for this first time in a very long while. And for the moment, that is enough. I don't want to push my luck too far.

They are playing old country songs tonight on the radio, and as I drive home I am singing along with Glen Campbell:

_And I want you more than need you,_  
><em>And I need you for all time."<em>

I can't help smiling at that and I wonder how good ol' Glen knows me so well. Still, I'm not complaining any more. Life might just be about to get better.

* * *

><p><em>Those lines were, of course, from Wichita Linesman, and were written by Jimmy Webb.<em>


	14. Borderline: Part I

**Thursday, 14****th**** October 2010  
>Borderline<strong>

I knew today was going to be one of those days even before I got into work. There I was, doing my morning commute when I saw this hideously familiar figure standing at the side of the road panhandling drivers for spare change. I say 'hideous' and I mean exactly that. You had to see this tramp to believe how repulsive he was. Only this was no ordinary tramp, this was none other than my partner, Detective Marty Deeks. Honestly, you can't take the guy anywhere. It might have been a great disguise, but it didn't fool me. I would know Deeks anywhere, even when he looks like he hasn't washed for months, is wearing a repulsive hat, an overcoat that looked as if it was made from an old dog blanket and sporting a horrid, straggly goatee, which I was just praying was false. Normally Deeks goes for the unshaven look, which actually works rather well for him, but this was just creepy. Anyway, I knew it was Deeks instantly, so there was no need for him to flip over the manky piece of cardboard he was holding that proclaimed him to be homeless (like we couldn't have guessed that from his appearance) to reveal a message wishing me a good morning. Only Deeks would do something like that. I hadn't seen him for four days, on account of the fact that LAPD had pulled him back to work yet another undercover operation for them. This one was clearly at the lower end of the scale, socially speaking. According to Deeks, he likes to 'go Method' when he goes undercover. In this case, that meant that he stank to high heaven and there was no way I was letting him get into my car, even if I had kind of missed him. Just a little bit. I finished the rest of the drive to the Mission mulling over the possibilities of defleaing Deeks before we let him onto the premises, on the entirely justifiable grounds of health and safety.

The next time I saw Deeks, he was strolling into Ops, all shiny clean from a long shower and wearing a shirt so white that it positively sparkled. I have to say that Deeks scrubs up nicely: he scrubs up very nicely indeed. He actually appeared to be glowing, but then I realised that was because Hetty has installed timers on the hot water, so that my partner had been subjected to the invigorating properties of a cold shower. There is nothing like the shock of a sudden downpour of icy-cold water to give you a healthy radiance. Hetty says that the timers are an eco-friendly measure, but I have a suspicion that they might be an attempt to dampen Deeks' rather rampant libido. If it is, I think her cunning plan is destined to almost certain failure. It certainly hasn't been working on me, that's for sure, because seeing Deeks fresh from the shower, and with his still damp hair starting to go into natural waves made my heart beat a little faster and my eyes open just a little bit wider. Wet Deeks tends to have that sort of effect on me. Deeks has amazing hair – it just seems to do its own, and it does that quite beautifully.

You may have noticed a recurring theme in my recent caseload – namely that of dead Marines. Today was a slight variation on that theme, in that we had not only one dead Marine, but the addition of another three that were missing. They'd been on border patrol, with the border being the one between the USA and Mexico. It was hard to believe that the Mexican drug cartels were not involved in something like this, given that they do not take kindly to having their activities disturbed. Now, normally Sam and Callen like to bag the field end of operations, but for some strange reason they didn't much fancy tootling around the desert hinterlands. I can't begin to imagine why. Deeks didn't seem too sold on the idea either. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, he was a complete wimp about the whole idea.

It turns out that for a man who doesn't appear to own a hairbrush and just leaves his hair to do its own thing (which it does quite brilliantly, I must add, in the interests of fairness), Deeks is actually quite vain. No, scratch that. Deeks is very vain indeed. He started off telling us that he has (and I quote) "an ivory complexion". Excuse me? What man have you ever heard talk about his complexion? And then he went on about his fair skin, and the fact he tends to burn rather easily. Who does he think he is kidding? Deeks is tanned – in fact, he looks like he's been dipped in molten honey. And that does not mean that I think he is sweet. Or that I want to lick him all over. Although I could be tempted – if he wasn't Deeks. My partner, Deeks. I have to remember that he is my partner and that means there is a line drawn, and I cannot cross over that line, no matter how much I might want to. Except in my dreams, of course. And that includes the daytime dreams I have, which a less-charitable person might refer to a gratuitous fantasies.

Of course, you can go off people, even if they do have fabulous bodies, great hair and cute faces. This was a case in point, as Deeks made the mistake of thinking out loud, which is something he does rather too often for comfort. I'm beginning to think he might have a mild case of Tourettes syndrome going on there. There has to be a reason, doesn't there? Unless he says these things deliberately and just to be provocative– but even Deeks wouldn't do that, would he? Actually, he probably would, because this is Deeks we are talking about. Deeks, who is pretty dim at times. Sorry, pretty but dim. I couldn't resist that. I must be kind of giddy about the fact that Deeks is back. I've missed him – missed working with him, I mean. Anyway, today my partner appears to have a death wish, because for some strange reason, known only to himself, Deeks is suggesting that Sam should work with me today.

Wait a minute. Can we rewind that, please? Deeks wants to swap partners and work with Callen? Callen, of all people, rather than me? Deeks is a dead man. I really should leave him to his own devices when he starts to tell Sam that he is much better suited to working under the desert sun, on account of the fact Sam is African-American, but even if I am mortally insulted, I drag Deeks away, just as he starts to protest that he's a Norwegian American. As if. Since when was Deeks a Norwegian name? Or even Martin? I'm going out on a limb here and working on the presumption that nobody would actually christen their child 'Marty'. Although I could be wrong. We are talking about the people that created Deeks in the first place, so pretty much anything is possible. Mind you, they are probably completely normal – like Mr Deeks is an accountant, and she works in the local library and they just wonder where they got this weird kid from. Alternatively, maybe someone dropped Deeks on his head when he was a baby? Or he was switched by aliens. There has to be some sort of explanation, doesn't there?

Luckily, Sam has mellowed considerably in his attitude towards Deeks, because he is smiling when he says that one of these days he is going to kill Deeks. I must say that I have considerable sympathy with Sam at times. Let him try working with Deeks for a day and then we'll see what he says after that joyful experience into the weird and wonderful of Deeks. And then I think about the other side of Deeks, the side that only comes out when we are alone and he lets his defences down, so that the sweet, considerate and above all damaged side of the man appears. I could be wrong, but I think that Deeks would rather die than be forced to reveal that part of himself to either of the male members of our team. In any case, Callen still seems to be struggling a bit with his jealousy issues, on account of the fact he likes to think he is Hetty's favourite, only he's feeling usurped by the new boy, so he only manages to venture that perhaps Deeks will grow on Sam. Kind of like he's still growing on me, I guess. I have to say that Callen does not sound convinced of this at all, but at least he is making an effort. I guess we are all starting to shake down together, but it is very obvious that there are two teams here: me and Deeks on the one hand, and then Callen and Sam on the other. We need to act in complimentary harmony, there is no room for egos in this job.

* * *

><p>We take one of the pool trucks out to our rendezvous in the desert, and I let Deeks drive. Well, it's not my car (which he is definitely not going to drive – not ever) and anyway, I happen to know this truck pulls like a pig, so why not? I have to admit I missed him for those few days he was gone. What I did not miss was the talking. I have come to the conclusion that Deeks can talk about anything – absolutely anything – and at great length. It is as if he opens his mouth and some sort of brake in his head just gets switched off. It is a long drive down to the border, and Deeks has chosen to talk about pets to enliven the journey. Pets. I ask you. I don't know where he gets these ideas from.<p>

"Sam and Callen think the ideal pet is a fish," he remarks conversationally.

"G would need to get a fish tank first. That might ruin the minimalist look of his house." We both snigger conspiratorially at that, knowing that Callen's house is not so much minimalist as unfurnished.

"They reckon that if the fish dies, then you can eat it," Deeks continues.

"That's gross." Plus, how would you manage to gut, fillet and scale something quite so small?

"Yeah, I mean if you're allergic to fur, then you're much better to go for something like a duck."

"A duck?" If anyone can produce a guide to the way Deeks' mind works, please let me know.

"Ducks are great pets. They look cool, they lay eggs and then when they quack off, you've got the makings of Chinese crispy duck."

"You can't eat your pets, Deeks. That's a rule. You can't eat anything that's got a name."

Deeks looks as if he's going to argue this point, but we've turned off the road by this point and he has to concentrate to avoid hitting this pothole. And people say I'm a bad driver? I reckon they're just envious of the way I take no prisoners when I'm driving. Being a good driver is just a matter of confidence. And once you've driven a tank, believe me, you are confident.

I decide to kill his idea about having a pet duck once and for all. There is no way I am going to duck-sit next time he's goes undercover, just for starters. "Anyway, where would you keep a duck? They need a pond and you live in an apartment."

He turns and gives me a suspicious look. "How come you know where I live? Are you stalking me or something?"

"Just a lucky guess. Where else would you live?" Damn. I must remember to remind Eric to erase any trace of the snooping we did through Deeks' personnel file. His surprisingly empty personnel file. It's like there are huge chunks of his life missing.

"I'm getting this whole _Basic Instinct_ vibe going on here, Kensi."

Come on. A quick peek in someone's official file does not count as stalking. I'm a trained investigator after all. And what is more natural than to try to find out as much as possible about my partner. Deeks might talk a lot, but he never really gives away much personal information, I've noticed. Anyway, having a healthy, natural curiosity is completely different to stalking: anyone can see that. "You're getting too big for your britches Deeks." I regret that the moment I say it.

"Really? You've been peeking, haven't you?" Is that a leer I see on his face?

Well, duh! Of course I have. I'm not blind nor am I dead from the neck down. "Shut up, Deeks."

Naturally, that only spurs him on more. "You – I can see you with a cat."

Oh boy, we're back to pets again. What did he just say there? A cat? Deeks can see me with a cat? What the hell does he mean by that? Does he mean that I'm catty – because that's not true. No way. I just make pithy comments, which is completely different. Sometimes the truth hurts, you know. Or does it mean that Deeks thinks I'm the sort of sad, lonely person who only has a cat for company? That actually is true, all except for the cat part of course.

"A cat?" I ask, in a kind of hollow voice.

"A cat. Cats are self-reliant and graceful. I could see you with something elegant, like a seal-point Siamese."

Just when I am beginning to think there is no hope for Deeks, he goes and redeems himself. Better than that, he manages to put himself right up there in the pantheon of the gods.

He shoots me a smile. "Or maybe an Abyssinian – kind of dark and mysterious."

Bless the man. "You keep talking, Deeks. That's what you're good at."

* * *

><p>We arrive at our destination, which is basically in the middle of nowhere and undistinguishable from hundreds of other acres of desert, except for the swarming presence of Marines, who have retrieved the body of Corporal Montoya. The late Corporal Montoya, who is the latest casualty to have lost his life in the service of his country. You can't ever forget that fact. He's young, maybe about the same age as me, and it is never easy getting a reminder of your own mortality. I don't kid myself, this job is dangerous. So far I've been lucky, but one day my luck will dessert me. Someone, somewhere has a bullet with my name on it. But this isn't the time or place to dwell on such things: there is a job to do and the last thing we can do for Corporal Montoya is to find his killer. Or killers. I'm pretty sure there is more than one, judging from the SUV tracks I spot. The only problem is that they are leading away from the border. So much for the theory that one of the Mexican drug cartels was involved.<p>

I nod to the dirt bikes we're got stowed in the back of our truck. "Ready to go for a little ride?" Damn. I shouldn't have said that, should I? There is no way Deeks is going to let that one slide by. And of course, I am right. Well, I've just given him possibly the greatest opening ever, haven't I? Which is kind of ironic, given that I've been thinking how Deeks needs to put his brain in gear before speaking. The biter is well and truly bitten.

For once, Deeks doesn't say anything, but then he doesn't have to because the big grin on his face says it all for him. How can he look so lascivious and yet kind of cute at the same time? It's an art-form, I swear it is – and he's an undoubted master of this particular branch of the dark arts. "On the bikes, Deeks," I add, just for emphasis. I'd like to tell him to get his mind out of the gutter, but that would probably just spur him on even more.

"I didn't say anything."

No, and he didn't have to either. I knew exactly what Deeks was thinking because it was written all over his face. And for some reason I start to have all these flashbacks to _Laurence of Arabia_, and Omar Sharif riding slowly towards the camera. You know what is happening and you can't wait for him to finally get into close-up, and yet you don't want the moment to end. Okay, so I'm talking about delayed gratification. And I'm talking about exceptionally hot men who kind of do something to me. Deeks isn't the only one who can do innuendo, you know. The difference is that I keep my thoughts to myself. Except when I make the odd Freudian slip, like suggesting we go for a ride. I'm just glad that Nate wasn't around to pick me up on that. Which reminds me: Nate has been conspicuous by his absence recently. I wonder what's up with him? Oh well, no doubt Hetty will tell us in her own good time – in other words, she won't say a word. Not until she absolutely has to, and only then if she is forced. You look in any dictionary and under 'discrete' you are going to find a cross-reference to 'Lang, Henrietta'.

Meanwhile, Deeks and I are going off to do a little tracking. Correction: I am going to do some tracking and Deeks is going to follow me. After all, there isn't much call for tracking-skills in the middle of LA. Unless you are going to count the fact that Deeks like a bloodhound when there is an even moderately attractive female, with the obvious exception of Hetty, of course. Not even Deeks would dare to hit on Hetty – would he? Oh God, if he does, please let me be around to watch the ritual sacrifice.

* * *

><p><em>You might have noticed I snuck in a little extra scene in there - well, I just couldn't resist the opportunity for some KensiDeeks banter._


	15. Borderline: Part II

As we ride across the desert, I notice that Deeks is very careful to stand up over what is undoubtedly bumpy terrain. He's clearly done this before and is bent on protecting his assets, no doubt from having learnt the hard way how unforgiving the petrol tank of a motorbike can be on the male anatomy.

It's a good thing for Deeks that I'm pretty good at following tracks, but boy, does he moan a lot. I can't help noticing that his hair isn't nearly so bouncy after it's been confined under a bike helmet, but given mine probably isn't a whole lot better, I decide that I'd be better off staying quiet on that subject. Anyway, knowing Deeks, his hair will probably bounce back into shape and it will soon look as if he's spent hours styling it to get that artfully dishevelled look. Mine, on the other hand, will no doubt just look like helmet-hair. However, the main thing I notice about Deeks is that he is not a happy bunny out here, in the middle of nowhere and underneath a relentless sun. And when Deeks isn't happy, everybody knows about it, because he just can't help going on about it. At great length. For some unknown reason, Deeks was fixated about the fact we were in the middle of nowhere. It was almost as if he didn't trust my tracking skills. Just because we'd had to stop because I'd temporarily lost sight of the trail. You try following tire tracks when you're driving across the desert on a dirt bike with the sand blowing everywhere and let me know how well you get on with that.

It wasn't as if we were lost or anything like that. I'd just lost sight of the trail and needed a few minutes to get my bearings. Deeks needs to have more faith in me. I'm good at this, which is why I was sent out here in the first place. If he'd stop moaning quite so much, he might actually learn something. Eventually, I had to put it to him straight, and tell him that a) we weren't in the Sahara and b) even if we were, my dad had taught me how to survive pretty much anywhere, even the desert. And then I spotted the tire tracks and dropped down to take a better look. That seemed to impress Deeks, even if he did call me Tonto. And if he thinks that makes him the Lone Ranger, he's got another thought coming.

My dad taught me a whole lot of stuff, not only just to track and shoot, but how to wire a house and play poker. I play poker very badly, because Dad was a lousy card player. It might very well have been the death of him – either that or the guys he was playing with that night were. One day I'm going to find them and find out what really happened the night he was murdered. In fact, my Dad taught me pretty much anything he would have taught a son. Only he didn't have a son – he just had me. And I had him. He was my best friend. Only he was killed when I was fifteen, and they never found who did it. But I haven't stopped looking and I never will. One day I will find the man or men who killed my father and then I will deal with them. I have waited a long time, and I can wait a while longer.

I ask Deeks about his own father and for a fleeting moment there is a faraway look in his eyes and then those shutters fall down again and he makes an off-hand remark about how he's pretty sure his father hates him. This sounds like another wild and woolly Deeks story, and I don't believe him, not even when he looks me dead on and tells me the last thing his father said was "Marty, I hate you." Right before he fired a shotgun at his son. This has to be another Deeks story. I don't believe it. Since when were accountants homicidal maniacs? Mind you, living with Deeks could drive anyone to distraction, especially if you spend your days adding up columns of figure. Of course, there's a possibility Deeks senior isn't an accountant. He could be anything – like a dentist, or even a high-school teacher. I bet he's a sweet man, who wonders where he got this mad son from. He's probably bald too – had all his hair until he was in his late thirties, and then it fell out overnight. That probably would coincide with Deeks' the teenage years. I'm feeling sorry for the man already and I've not even met him. It can't have been easy living with Deeks. I bet he started talking at a very young age and he certainly hasn't ever stopped.

Deeks is still giving me that look, along with a wry smile. He can tell I'm not buying this. I'm pretty sure he's just making up this story, on account of the fact he knows my dad was murdered, so he doesn't feel right about having a great childhood. I can just see Deeks growing in some small town, where his mom works in the local flower shop, and they live in this house with a porch and a dog that chases cars, and Deeks is on the high-school swim team. So I don't buy it when he says it's been six years since he saw his father and that for all he knows the miserable bastard could be dead by now. Come on – who does he think he's kidding? He probably goes home for Sunday lunch most weeks, and then he and his old man go fishing in the late summer's evenings, or sit on the porch and drink beer. But I'm not in the mood to go into one of those 'my childhood was more miserable than yours' type of scenarios. Mainly because I would win. It's kind of hard to beat the fact your father was murdered in cold blood after all.

I liked being a tomboy and I never felt I was second-best, on account of my gender. It's only now that I look back and wonder if things would have been different if I'd had a brother. Maybe Dad wouldn't have tried quite so hard with me, and I might have hung around more with other kids and made more friends. That might have given me a slightly easier ride through high school too. You try being the gawky tomboy, with the murdered father and see how far that goes towards getting you dates. I loved my dad, and I did everything I could to please him and that resulted in me having a kick-ass set of skills and a killer attitude. To this day, I'm happiest in a pair of jeans and a shirt, even if I do look incredible in a dress. It took me a long time to come to terms with my breasts, even if they are fantastic. Why should I be modest? After all, I went through the excrutiating experience of having to go shopping for my first bra with my father. We'll just agree to skate over the other embarrassing details of how hormones act on the teenage female body, shall we? All I'll say is that I wanted the earth to open when my Dad asked the pharmacy assistant for advice on which product we should purchase. And he had to ask Annabelle-Lee was in the year above me at school and hated my guts with a vengeance. Add into the mix that I was a very late starter indeed and, you will understand that she made the next few weeks were a living hell, until I finally sorted her out. I wonder if she ever got that nose job she went on about? I bet that if my Dad had lived, I probably would have joined the Marine Corps, just like him. I wonder how different my life might have been? Perhaps I would be the female Marine we're trying to track down and there would have been some other poor soul stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a partner who appears to have the bladder capacity of a budgie.

"I've got to pee," Deeks announces, without the slightest bit of modesty. This definitely constitutes too much information in my book. And wouldn't it be nice if he could be slightly more circumspect about his bodily functions, rather than just announcing them to me like that? I might have been brought up my dad, I might still be a bit of a tomboy, but I am a girl and it would be nice if Deeks would acknowledge that. No, wipe that thought. I don't want Deeks casting any more admiring glances at certain parts of my body than he already does.

"Again?" Have you ever noticed how women have much better bladder control than men? Of course, that has a lot to do with the fact that we just aren't as well-equipped for peeing out in the open, which is kind of a basic design flaw in the female body, if you ask me. Some people have bashful bladders, but from what I've seen today, if anything Deeks' bladder is rather too friendly.

Deeks even has the nerve to tell me not to peek, after making this feeble excuse about how all the bouncing around was hard on his kidneys, and he'd hydrated for the desert. You know, if Deeks didn't talk quite so much, he wouldn't get nearly so thirsty, but I don't suppose that has ever occurred to him. I'm standing, looking carefully at my feet and just pondering how much longer we're going to be out here when Deeks lets out this exclamation and then fires his gun. Twice. I'm sprinting across towards him, thinking he's been standing there, peeing and all of a sudden the Mexican cartel member has ambushed him. Or maybe he's peed on one of the gang members, who was hiding in the scrubby undergrowth that a suddenly-coy Deeks has chosen to conceal himself behind. If Deeks has been caught by surprise, with his flies undone and his hands full, so to speak, he could be in real trouble.

He is not in trouble. Rather, he is standing looking at a small, insignificant snake. Or rather, it was a small, rather insignificant snake. It is now an ex-snake, seeing as how its head has parted company with its body. That seems like over-kill to me. Deeks claimed it was getting ready to pounce. Maybe if he'd peed on my head I might have felt the same impulse, but I don't say that. I just tell him that snakes do not pounce – they strike.

It turns out that my partner has got a phobia about snakes. Excellent. I let him prattle away, telling me some tall tale about how the paramedics had to use the jaws of life to get a boa constrictor off his neck when he was a kid and wonder if I'm being really awful, because I actually feel more sympathy for the snake. I kind of like snakes, and one of my most prized possessions, definitely one of the things I'd save if my apartment ever went on fire, is a stuffed king cobra my dad gave me. I can't seem to stop thinking about my dad today, for some reason. He loved the desert: said there was something about the wide open spaces and the endless skies and the sheer, unrelenting hostility of the landscape that made him feel alive. But Dad isn't here with me – Deeks is. Deeks who forgot to zip his flies back up on account he got all girly over a tiny little snake that wasn't doing anybody any harm. Honestly, I can't take him anywhere.

"Did he ever get over it?" I ask and have the pleasure of seeing Deeks looks perplexed.

"You've lost me."

"I wish. You wouldn't last two hours out here by yourself." Only it would be rather hard to explain to Hetty if I came back alone. The drive home to LA would be nice and peaceful though.

"Why would I want to live without you, Kensi?" Is he fluttering his eyelashes at me?

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Deeks."

"But at least you admit I'm witty. Oh come one - just a bit?" He's raising his eyebrows up at me, and trying his best to look appealing, but the effect is kind of ruined by his sweat-dampened helmet-hair.

"Not even a tiny bit." It's time to change the subject before I crack and tell Deeks that actually he's a pretty funny guy. "So – how did your friend take it – the whole thing about you ruining his birthday party by killing the snake, I mean?"

Deeks draws himself up to his full height and glares at me. "For your information, the snake was fine. And the paramedics arriving with their lights flashing and the sirens going really made the whole day kind of special for everyone. Except me." He rubs his neck in a manner designed to evoke pity and sympathy. And guess what? It works.

"But you were okay? I mean, you're standing here and you're obviously okay. It's not like it killed you or anything." I try not to sound too guilty.

"That's not the point, Kensi. It could have throttled me. Daisy said I was about one minute away from suffocating."

I try to picture the scene and it's only too easy: hysterical kids screaming their heads off, mothers running around in a panic and this skinny kid with flaxen-blond hair who is puce in the face and struggling for breath. "Sorry, Deeks. I didn't realise it was that serious." I pause for a second and think about what he said. "Wait a minute – who's Daisy?"

A familiar smirk settles on Deeks' face. "The paramedic. Wow, she was really hot. And sweet. Not to mention one hell of a kisser."

"Wait a minute – you were what? Ten? Twelve?" This is sounding awful like child abuse.

The grin is so large, it just about splits his face in two. "Well, she had to give me mouth to mouth, didn't she? On account of the fact I wasn't breathing. And I'm pretty sure she slipped me some tongue."

That's when I know I've been had – that Deeks has spun one of his stories and I've fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. Just to teach him a lesson, I should get back on my bike and roar away, leaving him with a mouthful of sand. I should have known better than to believe anything Deeks said about his childhood. I'm almost certain his father is a sweet, quiet man, who sings in the church choir while his mother is probably the president of her quilting group. They're most likely upstanding members of the community, and they must really wonder where they went so wrong with junior and his warped sense of humour.

But I don't get back on the bike, for some strange reason. Instead I turn to Deeks, who has thankfully done up his flies by now. It wa kind of distracting and my eyes kept drifting downwards for some strange reason.

"Do you miss it, Deeks? Being a kid, I mean?"

It's at moments like this, when the sky is bright with a light that almost seres your eyeballs, that I feel most at home: the desert offers such infinite possibilities and I feel as if anything is possible, and that it is safe to share just a little bit of myself with Deeks. He is my partner after all, and we've learned to care a little for each other, so it seems reasonable that we should talk about things too – the things that made us the people we are today.

"Not really. Not at all, actually. I wouldn't ever want to go back there." He shakes his head, as if he's trying to dismiss some thoughts and I think about the story he told earlier, the one about his father pointing a shotgun at him and a shiver runs down the entire length of my spine. "You do though – don't you?"

I nod. "I felt safe then. My Dad made me feel so safe, and so loved. He made me feel like I could do anything."

"And he was right. You can do anything, Kensi. You can do anything you want. You know that, don't you?" Deeks is completely serious right now.

"Maybe." Some days I feel so confident, and then other times I am that awkward kid in the drug store and Annabelle-Lee is laughing at me and I feel like I'm never going to fit in, that I will never quite belong.

"Believe me – you can do anything. Definitely. Treasure the past – but don't let it stop you from going forward."

"So you wouldn't want to go back?"

"Hell, no." There is no doubting the sincerity of this statement. "Why would I want to go back to a time when I was completely miserable?" There is a look of something approaching repugnance on his face.

"So you've got to go forward and never look back?" I suggest, and he nods.

"That's a good way to put it. The past is gone, but the future can be anything we want it to be. Anything at all."

My childhood ended when I was fifteen: it literally disappeared the moment I heard my dad was dead. Everything changed that day and nothing has been the same since. But now I realise that I had fifteen great years, and that I was really lucky to have those. I'm beginning to get the idea that Deeks tells these wild stories of his to hide behind, and that maybe his childhood wasn't all white-picket fences after all. But now I believe the part about his father. Maybe one day he'll be able to tell me the rest f the story. And then I might tell him about how I am still looking for my father's killer. He might even be able to help me.

The desert stretches out in front of us, and we've still got miles to go. But we're going there together, me and my partner, travelling side by side. Well, some of the time. In every partnership there is always someone who has to take the lead. Right now, that person was me. But I wasn't entirely ruling out the possibility of letting Deeks have his turn. Because that was the way things should be. One of us has to lead and to trust that the other person has their back, while the person brining up the rear has to trust that the leader isn't taking them into danger. It's all about trust, knowing where the other person is and knowing they will always be there. I just hope we don't have to stop too many times for Deeks to pee though. There's no scrub at all, nowhere for him to duck behind and I can't guarantee I won't peek.

"Kensi?" Deeks is astride his bike, he's kicked it into action and is revving the throttle. "You're a seriously great partner." And then he lets the bike leap forward and in the next instant I am following him out across the desert once more.

* * *

><p><em>I've taken the liberty of adding in another couple of missing scenes here.<em>


	16. Borderline: Part III

We continue following the tracks and the next time we stop so that I can get a closer look Deeks is driven to remark, "I can't do that: how can you do that?" I catch the Butch Cassidy reference and grin, thinking that at least we have one thing in common: we like the same films. I'm tempted to remind him that we are the good guys in this pursuit, but I don't want to spoil the moment. For some strange reason, I'm really enjoying this – the tracking, the pursuit, the desert, even the fact that I'm alone out here with Deeks. There are worse people to be with, after all. He's easy on the eye, he's good company and he's never short of conversation. I think this partnership is going to work out just fine.

Periodically, we talk to Sam and Callen back in LA. Predictably, things are getting more complicated as they find out more information, make more links and get us that closer to closing the case, procedurally speaking. Apart from actually finding our missing Marines, of course. It turns out that Hastings, the female Marine, is pregnant. And the father turns out to be the late Corporal Montoya. Oh great. This is another case where we've got a woman and her child. This is just what I didn't need. Working on the Emma Mastin case was bad enough, what with all the conflicted feelings I have to cope with, but now this? In an idle moment, I speculate about what Callen and Sam would do if they found out I was pregnant and Deeks was the father.

Whoah. Stop right there, Kensi. In fact, do not go there. Do not ever go there. What am I thinking about? First off, that is never going to happen. And certainly not with Deeks. And secondly, even if it did (which it won't) it would be none of Sam and Callen's business. Absolutely none. It would be between me and Deeks and it would be nothing to do with anybody else. With a sense of dread I realise that I'm back to speculating about having babies with Deeks. Either my hormones are seriously out of whack or the desert sun is frying my brains inside this helmet? I've never ever thought about having babies with either Sam or Callen when I've been working with them. And I definitely never thought about having babies with Dom. He was practically a baby himself, of course. So why on earth do I keep thinking about what pretty babies Deeks and I would make together? This isn't right and it isn't normal. And it's all Deeks' fault. My good mood sours.

The next time I speak to Callen and he asks how Deeks is doing, I tell him the truth.

"He pees a lot."

Wisely, Callen doesn't respond to this. This is probably because he's never gone undercover as an urologist and so can't give me the benefit of his experience. Just give him time though… Instead, he tells me that Sam is assuming an old alias he once used, and he sounds worried. There's no need: Sam is more than capable of looking after himself. I could see Sam in one of those Roman arenas, and all the lions running away in terror.

Deeks is standing leaning on his bike and staring into the distance. I don't think he heard my remark about him peeing all the time. I hope he didn't. It was kind of mean, and it's not his fault I keep wondering what our kids would look like. There's a light breeze that's playing with his hair and he kind of looks like some explorer. It's probably the beard that does it. I wonder what it's like to kiss a man with a beard? I must try it sometime. Although obviously not with Deeks. That goes without saying.

"You look rugged Deeks." Was that my voice? Am I possessed by some evil entity that is not only jumping up and down on my ovaries but invading my brain into the bargain? Talk about lust in the dust.

Deeks looked shocked. Possibly almost as shocked as I am. "My idea of roughing it is a pool in a four star hotel without a cabana," he blurts out, before doing a double take. "You think I look rugged?" There is a note of disbelief in his voice which I can totally appreciate. I'm as shocked and stunned as he is. However, I'm also pretty good at staging a fast recovery, which is what I do in this case.

"Yeah. Kind of like Malibu Ken. He's not anatomically correct either!" With that I hop back onto my bike and roar off across the desert once more, like I seem to have been doing all day. But this time, we're nearly there. In fact we come across our prey about twenty minutes later. From our vantage point we can see our two Marines, both of whom are injured, plus at least three shooters. Clearly this is a case of divide and conquer, so I send in Deeks to try to draw at least a couple of them away. To his credit, he goes without a murmur. Like I said earlier, when you are working a job there is always someone who has to be in command and call the shots. That person also takes ultimate responsibility for the success or failure of a mission. With that weighing on my mind, I also call up Callen and Sam – it looks like we're going to need all the help we can get. There might only be three shooters right now, but I have this nasty feeling reinforcements are not far away. We need help and we need it fast. There's not time to lose.

So now it is up to me. You know how you hear people say that their hearts were in their mouths? Well it doesn't work that way with me: I just feel sick. Like I am actually going to throw up. If fear gives you an edge, then right now I'm balancing on a razor blade. But there is a job to be done and Deeks has done his part, roaring in on his bike and then departing at high speed, with two guys giving chase on quad bikes. Now it's up to me. Just me. So I take a huge breath in and then hold it, hoping it will quell my stomach. I've never felt quite so alone in my whole life as I make my way in. And that's when the shooting begins. The details all blur into one another, everything happens so fast, but when it all calms down, we're hunkered down under cover, the Marines are both alive, more or less in one piece as well, and the last shooter is dead. So far, so good. But I can't raise Deeks. I try getting hold of him, but there's no answer. And there's a car driving up with more men in it – armed men, and all of a sudden I'm getting a really bad feeling about all of this.

Where is Deeks? Where the hell is my partner when I need him? I push down the feeling that something might have happened to Deeks, and concentrate on staying alive. Deeks is too annoying to be dead. And why are Callen and Sam taking so long in getting here? Don't they know I wouldn't have called them unless it was desperate? Where the hell are those guys? I'm outnumbered and worse than that, I'm on my own.

"Did you miss me?" A breathless Deeks flings himself down beside me.

"Where have you been?" I'm so pleased to see him I could almost kiss him. Down girl. This is neither the time or the place.

"They killed my bike."

I don't want to hear any more, because I don't actually care about the bike. I'm only too aware that it could have been Deeks that got killed, instead of some stupid bike. Only he isn't dead – he's here beside me, and he's fine. The only problem is that we're outnumbered and we're pinned down.

"This reminds me of the end of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," Deeks remarks cheerily. Right – that would be the bit where they die then? Thanks for that, Deeks. You know how to make a bad situation worse, don't you?

He's wrong, of course. Our opponents have got a grenade launcher, which makes this so much worse. You don't really have a whole lot of options when you're faced with something like a grenade launcher – except to get out of the way as fast as possible. I know one thing – today is very definitely not a good day to die. I am not just going to sit here and be blown to smithereens with a grenade launcher – not when I've still got so much living to do. Desperate times call for desperate remedies, right? And right now we've got nothing to lose. Except our lives, of course, but if we don't do something we're going to die anyway.

So while Deeks provides cover, I make a dash for our only hope – a truck. Now, if I can just manage to hotwire it… God bless you Daddy. I might just get out of here alive because you taught me all sorts of useful tricks. Are you up there right now? Are you looking down at me and saying 'you're not going to die today, baby girl'? I'm scrambling under the dash, pulling out wires and trying to twist the right ones together and my fingers feel about as nimble as sausages and all the time Deeks is providing covering fire from behind this trailer.

And then the earth moves. It actually moves. I can feel the force of the explosion as the grenade hits the trailer, which bursts into fire and the truck rocks back and forward and the wires fall out of my fingers. There's only one thought in my head now and I gasp out one word.

"Deeks."

Oh Deeks.

Oh shit.

Oh Daddy, why couldn't you have looked after my partner too?

And then I hear the distinctive sound of a helicopter, its rotor blades beating the air and I know it is the seventh cavalry arriving. Or even Callen and Sam. Why couldn't they have got here sooner? Just one minute sooner and Deeks might still be alive, instead of being blown to kingdom come. At least it would have been quick, I tell myself. But it's my responsibility. I was the one calling the shots. I am the one who is still alive and Deeks is dead. His death is my responsibility.

It's all over now. The guys see to that, in a barrage of gunfire. And then Callen is shouting for me.

"Kensi?" He sounds kind of anxious. I can't blame him. They must have seen the trailer explode when they were flying in.

"I'm good." I get out of the truck and walk over towards him on legs that feel like two stalks of boiled celery. My ind is numb and I wonder how on earth I'm going to tell him that Deeks is dead.

Callen is still looking around and he's kind of wild-eyed. "Sam?"

Sam is fine too. Of course he is. Sam could probably be in epicentre of an earthquake and still emerge unscathed. He and Callen exchange looks, the sort of looks that say 'we did it again'. They've got that euphoric look on their faces that comes when you've been so close to death that you could almost have shaken hands. They don't seem to notice that someone is missing or that I'm just standing there, completely mute. I can't say anything, I can't trust my voice and I can't find the words.

"I'm good too, in case anybody cares." Deeks emerges from behind the trailer and he looks thoroughly disgruntled and more than a little bit disillusioned. Sam gives him a thumbs-up, but Deeks doesn't see it. He just stands there, looking at three of us standing together, but he makes no effort to join us. My heart's singing because he's alive, even if I can't quite believe it, but my legs refuse to work. I want to run over to him, to fling my arms around his neck, but I can't do anything or say anything, so I just stand there looking at him, and thinking how wonderfully, marvellously alive he is. Deeks has never looked better, simply because he is not dead. I catch his eye, but he just shakes his head and walks away, head down and boots scuffing at the sand.

Damn. It wasn't meant to end like this. We were doing great, Deeks and I. We did all the ground work, and then it blew up in our faces – literally, so that Sam and Callen had to pull our asses out of the fire. Not that I'm complaining about that. But when it came right down to the crunch, Callen didn't even give Deeks a second thought. He never even noticed he wasn't around. And I was convinced Deeks was dead, so I never thought to call out for him. And that's not what partners do. In his eyes, we all acted as if he wasn't even worth bothering about. I don't blame Deeks for not wanting to be with us right now. If I was him, I'd probably just keep right on walking.

* * *

><p>Deeks stays silent the whole way back to LA. That's a whole lot worse than his talking – the silence. Silence and Deeks are mutually exclusive – aren't they? He drives, I sit beside him, with the dream team in the back, swapping stories of some of their more improbable cover stories. I still can't even begin to imagine Callen as a jockey, although funnily enough I don't have much difficulty seeing Sam as an undertaker. Normally Deeks would have to join in, with some mad (and no doubt fictitious) tale of his own, but he just keeps driving and doesn't say anything.<p>

"Deeks? Everything okay?" Callen asks jovially. He's been hyped up for the assault and now he's enjoying the euphoria of still being alive and in one piece and knowing he's done a good job. He's impervious to what else he might have done, however unintentionally.

"I'm good," Deeks says, while I cringe. He used that phrase deliberately, didn't he? It couldn't be a co-incidence, could it?

"You don't need to pee?" Sam asks innocently and Deeks regards him steadily in the rear-view mirror.

"Like I said: I'm good." His voice is a study in neutrality.

They give it up as a lost cause, and start to speculate about what Hetty and Nate are up to, while the truck speeds back to LA and Deeks stares straight ahead and keeps his mouth shut for the first time since we met. I want to say something – but what? 'Hey – I thought you were dead' doesn't quite seem to fit the bill somehow. Just when I thought we were starting to really work together as a team, this had to happen, and our fledgling partnership has been blown wide-open.

Oh bugger, as Hetty might say.

* * *

><p>We stop in at Ops when we first get back to the Mission, all of us hot, tired and longing for a shower. Eric's in there by himself, looking at satellite images of our little sojourn in the desert.<p>

"I thought you'd had it back there," he says to Deeks.

"Which time? The time when they shot the bike out from underneath me, or the trailer?"

"The bike." Eric pulls up the images and I watch in horror.

"I did a bit of dirt bike racing when I was a kid. You learn how to fall." Deeks tries to sound nonchalant, but that was some tumble he took. No wonder I couldn't raise him.

"Nice shooting," Sam says appreciatively, watching as Deeks plays possum and then flips over and fires one deadly shot.

Deeks looks at him evenly. "Thanks."

The silence lies oppressively between us and Eric squirms uncomfortably in his chair before bringing up another set of footage, this time from the stand-off in the desert. We watch as Deeks provides covering fire for me and then ducks behind the trailer, which then explodes in spectacular fashion.

"Just like the Fourth of July, isn't it?" Deeks says. When I look across, his face is as impassive as one of those statues on Easter Island.

"How the hell…?" There is no need for Callen to finish the sentence, because we all know what he's thinking. That should have been the end of Deeks. You don't walk away from something like that.

"I got real good at ducking and diving when I was younger."

I don't want to think about all the layers of meaning implicit in that seeming innocuous statement or about what might lie beneath the words, not after what I learned about Deeks and his father today, so I just follow him out of Ops. As we walk along the balcony, we can hear Hetty talking to Nate on the main floor. Her voice floats up quite clearly to us.

"You are an important part of this team and you always will be."

Wait a minute. That sounds awfully final. That sounds like Nate's going somewhere. Hetty is still talking

"Keep your wits sharp, your heart open and your gun loaded."

Deeks shoots me a look. "Good words to live by." His expression is still set, but his eyes are bleak. He's walking away from me now, and Hetty is still talking.

"Until the next time."

Only I don't know if there's going to be a next time for me and Deeks. I turn around and glare at Callen, who puts his hands up defensively, as if to fend me off.

"What did I do?"

Men are completely clueless. They are great at rushing in and saving the day at the eleventh hour, but when it comes to the subtle nuances of life they are worse than useless.

"Nothing. You said nothing, Callen – and that's the whole problem."

* * *

><p><em>Oh-oh. Deeks is pissed, Kensi's mad and Callen might just find himself stuck in the middle. All will be revealed in the Epilogue.<em>


	17. Borderline: Epilogue

**Thursday, 14****th**** October 2010  
>Borderline: Epilogue<strong>

Callen looked at me in genuine surprise. "You want to bring me up to speed here, Kensi?"

"It's Deeks, isn't it?" Sam comes up behind us, and I know he's seen and heard everything. More than that he has understood what it going on. Dear Sam: underneath that gruff exterior beats a heart of pure gold. He's always looking out for us, and he's probably the one who beat himself up most over Dom's death. He explains things to his partner. "You and I – we were so hyped-up about the success of the operation, and then finding out Kensi was okay. We kind of forgot about Deeks." He sounds ashamed.

The truth hits Callen like a cannon-ball: you can almost see him flinch from the impact and he's struggling to say anything.

"I thought he was dead." I lean back against the wall and feel the cool of the plaster gratefully seep into my skin. "When that grenade hit the trailer, I was sure Deeks was killed." All of a sudden my legs don't want to support me, and I slide down the wall, so that I'm almost hunkering on my heels, and I run my hands through my hair. "I really thought he was dead." I can't bear to look at either of them, so I just stare at the floor instead.

"He's not dead, he's just mad," Sam says sagely.

Callen shakes his head. "No, it's more than that. He's hurt." And it sounds as if that realisation, and his part in the events that led up to this have shocked him to the core.

Yes, we go out every day and we do insane things – we walk into situations that we know are deadly; we drive halfway across the desert in search of two Marines; we go out willingly to do these things and we accept the risks willingly, because that is what our jobs are all about. And on days like today we nearly get ourselves killed in the process doing these insanely dangerous things. But when it comes right down to it we are still human and we are still capable of being hurt. Nobody wants to feel excluded, everyone want to belong, to know that someone, somewhere cares about them, that they mean something to somebody. Nobody ever wants to feel excluded or to think that their life means nothing because the subtext is clear: you are nothing. You are worthless.

"Damn. I didn't mean anything." Callen is re-evaluating things now. "I should have realised something was wrong when he was so quiet on the journey back."

Finally I am able to look up at him. "I don't think he knew what to say. It was kind of like he was an outsider." Or raather that we had made him an outsider. We're a tight-knit group, I know that, but Deeks was beginning to forge his own place in our team. Now I wonder if he'll just ask for an immediate transfer back to LAPD and just the thought of that hurts. I don't want him to go. I want Deeks to stay right here. I want him to belong to us. I just want him and that's the truth.

"That's crazy. Deeks is one of us. He was one of us right from the start." Callen is fair. He's a good man, even if he does have a little trouble adjusting sometimes. I blame his nomadic childhood, but one thing is clear: Callen does not react well to change.

"I know that, G. But I'm not the one you have to convince." Sam gives him a look and I wonder that if perhaps I wasn't around, then maybe they might have hugged. In a manly, heterosexual way, of course.

"I just didn't think. And I certainly didn't think Deeks would take it like this. You know what he's like – always joking." The way Callen says this makes me wonder if he thinks Deeks is made of Teflon and that things will just slide off him. But the fact is that everybody hurts, no matter how much they might try to pretend that they do not.

There are a lot of things I could say: I could talk about how we all chose to present ourselves to the world in a certain way; or about how we hide behind a carefully constructed personna and only let those parts of ourselves we deem acceptable for public display to be shown to the world. None of us are ever quite what we appear to be. We all have our secrets – even me. Today when we were out in the desert, far away from everyone else, Deeks let me see behind his mask for a few minutes. That's not something I can share with the rest of the team though – that is Deeks' private business. If he wants to tell them, he will. And if he doesn't want to, then his secret is safe with me.

So I say nothing. Instead, I just look at Callen and then hold out my hand and let him haul me to my feet. "Maybe we've all got to change the way we think? Dom is dead – and Deeks was very nearly dead today too. And you want to know why? Because he was giving me covering fire. So if he was killed, then it would be my fault." After all, I was the one in charge out there. Deeks was only where he was because he was obeying my instructions.

"No. It wouldn't be your fault, Kensi. It would be mine, because I didn't run fast enough," a familiar voice says and Deeks appears behind Sam, drinking a cup of coffee. "Don't take everything on yourself, Kensi. I'm a big boy and I can look after myself. I've been doing that for a very long time. Anyway, I never went into this job to win any popularity competitions. I'm just here to do a job." He takes another mouthful of coffee, looks at us and then turns back around, walking towards the stairs.

"Where are you going, Deeks?"

Sam has got that worried look on his face and I've got the feeling I do too. That's not how it works around here, no matter what they did in LAPD. Here we work together – all of us. Deeks might be my partner, but we're part of a team. He is part of this team whether he wants to be or not. And that means we will look out for him and we will be there for him. All of us. We just needed a little time to adjust. It's been the three of us – me, Callen and Sam – for a long time now. But things have changed. We just needed to realise that. And of course Deeks has to adjust too – it's not all one-way. Maybe if he just gives the guys a chance then he'll see what they are really like. I have this feeling that Deeks really wants to belong, and something in my gut tells me he's been lonely for far too long. He needs us just as much as we need him.

Deeks halts and then looks back over his shoulder. "I thought I'd hit the steam room. Got to try to get all that sand out of my pores." He throws them a challenging look.

"Good idea. And then you might want to do something about your hair. It's looking kind of flat." Sam studies it critically, seemingly impervious to the irony of a bald man giving the aggressively hirsute Deeks hair-care advice. "It's kind of lost its bounce. Its Norwegian bounce. You don't look the same with limp hair." He's teasing, in a good-natured way.

"You need to put some conditioner on it. And then you might want to put some moisturiser on that ivory complexion. we don't want to sully your boyish good looks. that's the only reason we keep you around." Callen walks over to stand beside Deeks. "Actually, a session in the steam room sounds kind of good. I might just join you. Sam?"

"Why not."

Deeks blinks a couple of times and then decides this isn't a wind up. The three of them smile in a matey fashion. Women brood over things and then have long heartfelt conversations about who said what, and what it really meant. There's usually lots of tears and lots of wine invloved in this process. Men never apologise: not in so many words. They make these nebulous conciliatory overtures and that's it – over and done with, never to be mentioned again. Beer often figures in this process, but it's not essential, as just deomonstrated. I realise that I've created a monster, I really have. They are going to go off for some buddy-bonding session in the steam room, all three of them. All of a sudden it is just 'guys together' and they waltz off merrily and leave me standing here. Typical. I wonder if they'll wear swim shorts, towels or nothing at all in the steam room. Oh, alright, I wonder if Deeks will wear anything or nothing at all and I have this image of him, lying back amidst clouds of steam, while his hair starts to curl of its own volition. Be still, my beating heart.

"Aren't you afraid Deeks might cramp your style?" I call after them and Sam flips me the bird. Well, they do say that two is company, but three's a crowd. Unless you are into threesomes, of course. Oh God. I'm starting to think like Deeks. This is so not good. On the other hand, at least Deeks is feeling better. I know that because he is talking again.

"So, how come we get the crappy truck while you guys come swooping in on the helicopter? That was seriously cool. If it hadn't been for the fact that I had this mouthful of sand, I would have been humming _The Ride of the Valkyries_, you know?"

Sam glares at him, but it's kind of like a big brother who is mildly ticked off with the kid who insists on tagging along, but at the same time he's thinking that the little guy is kind of cute. Callen just looks blank, but then given his lack of physical possessions he's probably never watched _Apocalypse Now_ a couple of hundred times like I have. I think I could grow to love the smell of Deeks in the morning: all minty fresh toothpaste and sleepy summer hair.

It strikes me that while they are off to share some communal steam-time, that this leaves me to get started on the paperwork. These guys aren't as daft as they look. Alternatively, I could go and hit the showers. There really isn't much of a choice, is there? After a day in the desert I'm only too aware that I'm hot and sticky and I definitely need to slather moisturiser all over. Maybe I should go by the male steam room and see if Deeks wants to borrow some of mine? And then I might solve the mystery of what guys do (or do not) wear in there. Although I am almost certain that if Callen and Sam were alone they would be au natural. Poor Deeks – I hope they don't make him feel like a gooseberry. never mind: I'm sure he'd rather have me. I hope so anyway.

* * *

><p>After standing under a shower for as long as the hot water lasts, I finally feel human again. And once I've pulled my hair into a loose plait and changed into fresh clothes, I've got my mojo back again. Today, despite everything, was actually a good day. Deeks and I are starting to learn to work together. I know he's got my back, that he might whinge a bit, but when it comes down to the wire he is there for me 100%. And now we might all start to shake down together as a team. If only he can get over that obsessive need to pee every half-hour, then I reckon we've pretty much got it made.<p>

I've never quite worked out why men always say women take a long time to get ready: in my experience they take about twice as long as we do. Sure enough, when I get back to my desk, the testosterone trio is conspicuous by its absence. Maybe Sam and G are helping Deeks style his hair? It's not like they have much opportunity to indulge their inner hairdresser after all. Most of the rest of the agents have gone home now and the Mission is almost empty, but there's a desk lamp throwing a pool of yellow light onto Hetty's desk though, and I wander over.

"Well – is it going to work?" You cannot keep anything from Hetty: she is all-seeing and all knowing. She gestures to the chair in front of her desk.

"I think so. I hope so." I sit down and think about how close we came to blowing it all today – but I think things are going to be okay. For a moment we hovered on that thin, almost invisible margin between success and failure, but there is no sense in dwelling upon what might have happened. In this job, you have to do the best with what you have got.

Hetty sips her tea delicately. "Keep your heart and your mind open. You never know what opportunities might await you. The readiness is all."

I realise that I am ready to get out of here, only I don't want to go home just yet. "Oh, I'm ready, Hetty. I'm ready for anything." Anything at all. And if that anything involves Deeks, then so much the better. I could do anything with Deeks. I can't begin to count the number of things I would to do to Deeks, or that I would like to do with Deeks. And you can make whatever you want to out of that last sentence.

"So you're ready, willing and able? Can I have that in writing, please?"

It is Deeks who says that. Of course it's Deeks. Who else would say something like that?

"Can you read joined-up writing?" I ask and he clasps one hand to his chest as if he's mortally wounded and then staggers back dramatically, straight into Sam's arms. I can't help noticing how that short sleeved t-shirt seems to make his arms look better than ever. His hair looks great too – but that is kind of a given, seeing as how this is Deeks. "That's one of the marks of being a great agent, Deeks – we're ready for anything." I just wasn't ready for Deeks, or how he would make me feel.

"We thought we'd get some beer and pizza and go on over to Callen's new place the once over," Sam says, lifting Deeks bodily to one side, as if he really was his annoying kid brother and weighed no more than about 50 pounds. Most people look small standing next to Sam, of course. That must be kind of hard on Callen, who actually is quite small to start off with. "How about you join us?"

"Why not?"

It's hard to resist Sam when he smiles like that. It's even harder to resist Deeks, who is trying to look like this is the greatest idea ever, but is slightly insecure and doing his best to hide it. He wants me there, I can tell. And anyway, I'm dying to see what Callen's house looks like. I'm also slightly curious to know if Sam gave him a housewarming present. If he did, and if that present was black silk sheets, then I'll know I was right. If it was something like a table lamp, then I'm back to square one. I know that working with a partner means you are going to become close, but they are beyond close. Deeks and I will never be like that - will we? Would we? Could we? What was it that Hetty said earlier on? Something about keeping your heart and my mind open, I think. Hetty is a wise old bird. The best things in life often sneak up and catch you completely unawares.

I've got nothing else planned. I could go home and do some housework, but the dust bunnies aren't going anywhere, are they? The chores will still be there tomorrow. I think what we need – and by that I mean the whole team – what we need more than anything else is to spend some time together. Some down time, away from work. We need to spend time just kicking back and relaxing, behaving like normal people do – the sort of people who haven't killed all the members of this Mexican protection ring today. The sort of people who have this thing for a really hot guy with tousled blond hair – this guy they nearly got killed today. Vaguely, I wonder what Sam's wife must think as she sits at home alone tonight, waiting in vain for her husband to return and I feel a pang of sympathy for her. It's not just that she seems to play second fiddle to whatever his relationship with Callen, but because she is never going to be a part of our charmed inner circle. I wonder if she hates me, for being the one female in the buddy-boy group, and then I realise that she probably doesn't even know that I exist. I can't decide if that is a good thing or not. We all have so many secrets and we all tell so many lies. One of these days those lies are going to find us out and all our secrets will be revealed. God help me when that happens. Keep looking out for me, Daddy – okay? I need you to keep looking out for me if I'm ever going to find out who killed you. I haven't stop looking and I never will – not until I find them. I made a vow and I will keep it. I promise you that.

"I've not got much in the way of furniture," Callen warns. He kind of likes stating the obvious sometimes.

"So we'll sit on the floor. It'll be like Boy Scouts all over again." Deeks flashes me a smile. "I was a great Boy Scout – always prepared for all eventualities. I still am."

"You just keep talking , Deeks – that's what you're good at." He gets the Butch and Sundance reference, another one in the series we've been batting and forward all day. We share that moment, a moment that is unique to us. The standoff with the cartel wasn't in Bolivia, in fact it wasn't even in Mexico, because we were in the good old USA the whole time, but we got through it and now it's something we can share, something nobody else will ever understand. It gives me a warm feeling inside.

As I get up from the chair, Hetty gives me one of her rare smiles and I know what she is thinking: everything is going to be just fine. We will work it out. Together. And someday I might even be able to tell Deeks a few of those dark secrets that compel me. But not just yet. It wouldn't be fair to lay that on him yet. Anyway, I think Deeks had already got enough pain bottled up inside him, without having to take on some of mine as well.

* * *

><p><em>Hmmm - some more references to Kensi's father in there. He's been on her thoughts a lot recently. What is that secret she's bottling up inside herself? <em>  
><em>Actually, your guess is as good as mine - but the two-part Kensi episode airs in the US tonight, so with any luck we're about to start to find out.<em>


	18. Special Delivery: Part I

**Wednesday 27****th**** October, 2010  
>Special Delivery<strong>

A girl never forgets the day she gets her engagement ring: that is a fact of life. I know that I will always remember the day I walked into a jewellery store with Deeks to look at engagement rings. Well, it's not the kind of thing I'm ever likely forget, is it? And I'll certainly never be able to wipe out the memory of when I presented Diane Farly with the ring that Corporal Thomas Porter had bought her. It was just a pity that Deeks and I were undercover and that Porter had died before he could give his fiancée her ring. But it's the thought that counts, isn't it? Of course, I knew exactly what thoughts were going through Deeks' mind in the store when he put his arm around my waist, even if my eyes were so dazzled by a tray of diamond sparklers so that I could hardly see for all the visions of wedding dresses floating through my mind. It's strange though, because Deeks seems to know an awful lot about rings. He can't be engaged, can he? Surely I'd know if he was engaged, or even in a serious relationship – wouldn't I?

Actually, Deeks seems to know quite a bit about jewellery in general, which is curious, because Deeks doesn't wear any jewellery – other than a watch, of course. When he first joined us, he had this old-school watch on a brown leather strap. Then last week I noticed that he'd got himself a cool black watch, with an extra-large face. Co-incidentally, it's a watch almost identical the ones Sam, Callen and I all wear. Isn't that cute? He's like a little kid who wants to fit in with the hip crowd. (Do people say 'hip' anymore? Does saying 'hip' mean that you're no longer hip. Or cool, or down with it, or whatever the current phrase is? I really have to get out more often.) Anyway, like I said Deeks seems to have kind of an intimate knowledge with jewellery, and it's really starting to bug me.

It all started when we realised that it was that nightmare time of year again, i.e. it was Hetty's birthday. And the eternal problem we have, which is what on earth are we going to buy her? Hetty has been everywhere and done everything and she has extensive collections to prove it. You just have to take a quick look into her office to realise that. It's like walking into a small, forgotten annex of the Smithsonian, permeated with the scent of a thousand cups of tea. That was one problem. The second was that Hetty always maintains she does not wish her birthday to be celebrated. To date, we have chosen to ignore that. Who doesn't want to get cards, and presents and birthday cake? I love birthdays. I'm kind of hoping they get me a piñata this year. That would be cool, don't you think? Maybe I should start dropping hints?

This morning, Callen, Sam and I were running through our various options regarding presents, when Deeks came strolling in, this messenger bag slung over his shoulder. It made him look like some kid delivering newspapers on his bike, what with that shaggy hair of his. Sam had suggested clothes, which was a no go – Hetty only wears tailor-made clothes. Like that isn't obvious. I'd just suggested that we wanted to give her something more intimate, like jewellery, and of course Deeks had to add his own comment, which was that jewellery has a special sort of intimacy. How would he know? I need to know how Deeks would know about that. Does that mean he has been engaged? Is he engaged right now? For the life of me, I can't picture Deeks getting down on one knee and proposing. But I'd be willing to be proved wrong… if the timing was right. And the ring, of course. The guy is kind of important too, I suppose. My first fiance was a dead lost and I'm determined to do bettter next time around.

Deeks does manage to sum up the situation quite neatly: if we don't get Hetty a present and throw her a party, like we usually do, then she's going to be really disappointed. And if we do, and she really doesn't want to mark the day, then she's going to be angry. It's really a case of damned if we do and damned if we don't. I'm not sure which is worse: an angry Hetty or a disappointed Hetty.

It's at moments like these that I really wish there was another woman on the team, mainly because it would be great to get some female perspective on a whole load of things. Including Deeks. Now, that just shows that you have to be careful what you wish for, because we got a new intelligence analyst the other day. She's a perky little thing who barely comes up to my shoulder and goes by the name of Nell Jones. We are all currently placing bets on exactly how long she's going to last before Hetty fires her. Our esteemed leader has a bit of a problem with intelligence analysts, and they seldom last more than a couple of weeks. Ms Jones will be lucky if she makes it to the end of the day. You see, she has this annoying habit of finishing other people's sentences. Nell does this perfectly cheerfully and with absolutely no remorse and today she is wearing a white blouse and a navy cardigan that make her look as if she's playing hookey from school, which makes it even more difficult to say anything mildly critical to her. Like 'shut up', although I have been sorely tempted. Poor Eric: I don't envy him. He has to work with her in Ops all day. Nell has even managed to take over whistle-duty from him, and consequently Eric looks like a dog who is going off to the vet to be neutered. And I thought I had a tough time being paired with Deeks…

The thing about Nell is that she looks all little and sweet and innocent, but she's not. She is exceedingly clever. She wouldn't be here if she wasn't. Only the best get to work for OSP after all. We're the elite, the ones who get the high-risk, high-profile cases. Nell is also quite spectacularly cunning and knows how to flatter. She demonstrates that today and I'm astonished to see how quickly both Hetty and Eric are swayed by her silver tongue. Would you believe that she even trotted out some little quote about tea to Hetty? Hetty, of course, looked charmed. What a complete suck-up. I can see that I'm going to have to watch out for Nell Jones. Somehow, I can't see us curled up on a sofa, exchanging confidences. I can see myself and Deeks snuggled together on a sofa, and we're certainly not talking, but that's another story altogether. You'll find that particular story filed away under the category of 'fiction', and it will be called _'Ain't Never Going To Happen'_. Like I said, I'm going to have to keep a very close eye on Little Miss Jones.

LA is a great place to live if you like shopping. And what woman doesn't like shopping? Unfortunately, being a federal agent doesn't pay me the sort of money I need to indulge my inner Kim Kardashian. However, one of the perks of this job is that I do get to wear some incredible clothes when we're running undercover ops. Sadly, I have to give them back afterwards. It was kind of depressing that our current case started off in the parking garage of a Beverley Hills mall. Now, colour me wrong, but when you're going back to your car after a hard morning's shopping, the last thing you expect to see is a dead Marine, who happens to be minus a hand. Yes, you read that right. We've got yet another case involving a dead Marine. I am seriously wondering how on earth they are going to manage to recruit anyone, given the numbers that die while off-duty. It seems that being in LA is a whole lot more dangerous than being in Afghanistan, if you're a Marine.

This particular dead Marine (and no offense, but I am beginning to long for a case that doesn't involve a dead Marine) was one Corporal Thomas Porter, and he was stationed at my old stamping ground, none other than good old Camp Pendleton. Deeks muttered something about the surfing up there, but that is just wishful thinking on his part. Sure, there's an amazing beach and I've been told the waves are incredible, but it's out of limits to everyone except Marine personnel and their families. So there is no way he's ever going to ride the swell there. I mean, I still have contacts and it's not out of the question that I could wangle us a pass, but I don't surf, so what would be the point? I mean, it's not like we'd be recreating that scene in _From Here To Eternity_, is it? You must know that scene: the one where Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster are kissing on the beach – they're lying there on the sand and the waves are crashing over them, but they don't care, because they're so involved in the moment, nothing else matters. That's never going to happen with me and Deeks, we are never going to roll around in the sand together or frolic in the surf, more's the pity. One of these days, I really must learn to surf. It could open up a whole new world of opportunities for me. I might just ask Deeks if he would teach me. That could be… interesting.

Anyway, Porter worked as a clerk in the admin section. Funnily enough, that meant he had top-secret security clearance. So maybe there was something more to this after all? That missing hand was beginning to look awfully suspicious. There was always the possibility that maybe his fingerprints were required for scanner access. Somebody had really done a job on poor old Thomas: not only was his hand severed, his throat had been slashed too. Slashed very thoroughly, with both the carotid and jugular arteries severed. Somebody was taking no chances there. The preliminary forensics reports stated that a sharp knife with a blade between seven and twelve inches had been used. There's an awful lot of K-Bar knives fall into that category. And a fellow Marine would be more than capable of killing in that fashion.

Deeks, of course, begged to differ about the knife. Sometimes I think that Deeks just argues with me for the sake of it. Or because it's because he likes hearing the sound of his own voice? He does have a nice voice though – it has this undertone of laughter in it. If you overlook the drawl, of course. Or is that a slight speech impediment? It's hard to be sure.

"It could be a sushi knife," he says.

Would you believe that Deeks says this in tones of utter seriousness? Working with Deeks is never dull, I'll say that. I could say a whole lot of other things about working with Deeks, , but none of them are repeatable.

"Are you suggesting that he was killed with a sushi knife?"

Deeks pretends to say something in Japanese – he babbles this whole string of nonsense that I bet he's picked up from watching Japanese anime. I am not going to give him the satisfaction of asking him what he's just said, because I am not going there. No way. And I know he is just longing for me to ask. So I don't. That'll teach him. There is no way Deeks speaks Japanese. No way on God's green earth.

Watching the security tapes soon shows us exactly why Porter's hand was cut off: it was because the idiot had handcuffed himself to a briefcase. Using a pair of handcuffs he'd probably bought off the internet, a pair of handcuffs that even Deeks could probably have picked in about twenty seconds. I'm not being mean to Deeks, really I'm not. It's just that on our last op he couldn't even hotwire that truck. How can anyone who grows up in LA not know how to hotwire a vehicle? It's practically the first thing you learn when you go to high school. Or was that just my high school? Anyway, like I said, those handcuffs were crappy. I could have picked them in 8 seconds, give or take a second either way. Sam reckons you're better using bolt cutters, but since when can you slip a pair of bolt cutters unobtrusively into your back pocket? Men never think of little things like that, do they? They always go for the unsubtle, in-your-face response.

We were all speculating about what might have been in the briefcase: reasonable, logical ideas, like cash, or bearer bonds. All expect my partner. Who thought it might have contained an engagement ring from Tiffanys.

I just looked at him. "You have no idea what that little blue box means to a girl." For me it would pretty much mean my dreams had come true. Hello? An engagement ring from Tiffany's? What's not to like about that?

"Oh, but I do." I swear he waggled his eyebrows at me.

I believe that just about as much as I believe that if you hold a guinea pig up by the tail its eyes will drop out. What would Deeks know about girls or engagement rings? Okay, he might know something about girls – like how to piss them off, but I swear he knows nothing about the sort of meaningful relationship that leads to a proposal of marriage. Married? Deeks? Yeah, right. He's too much of a player to ever settle down. It would be fun trying to house-train him though.

* * *

><p>A lot of cases have an underlying theme, I've found and this one was no different. And theme was – guess what? Jewellery. You see, it turned out that Porter was in the habit of borrowing money, and that he was engaged. Could he have been killed because he'd gone into debt to buy a diamond solitaire ring? Talking to Diane Farly made all my senses start to tingle. Porter had come back from his last tour in Iraq a changed man: all of a sudden he was looking at plasma TVs, sports cars, watches (hello, Marty Deeks!) and of course engagement rings. But Diane had already picked the ring she wanted, which was simple with a small diamond, only Tom wanted a bigger diamond. Somehow, I think her original choice would have really suited her. Diane is a really sweet person, and she's completely heart-broken by the news. Plus, just to make matters worse, she's got this really crappy job in a store where her manager wouldn't even give her any leave for the bereavement without docking her pay. Now, this job is tough – no doubt about that – but Hetty is great. She's probably the best boss I'm ever going to have. Hetty would not only send me home on full pay, she'd drive me there personally, and no doubt come in and make me a cup of tea. And my team would be supporting me too. I know that. I absolutely know that.<p>

As I have my heart-to-heart with Diane, Deeks is keeping her superviser safely occupied. No doubt the bitch would sack Diane if she thought she was being interviewed on company time. I bet she complains to talk radio shows about what her tax dollars are spent on too. She did prove to have an eye for prime male flesh in well-fitting olive pants though, so Deeks had an interesting time being shown the delights of the cookery department. Honestly, some women are so shallow – they give the rest of us a bad name. I noticed he was quite fascinated by the display of sushi knives. Doesn't the man listen to a word I say? Who would kill with a sushi knife? Other than a homicidal sushi chef, of course. I am willing to bet good money that we will not find that a sushi chef killed Porter. Whereas that Marine buddy of his, the one he owed money too – know he is looking really good. Actually, Deeks is looking kind of good in those olive pants too. They make a nice change from jeans. I bet he has to get them in extra long, on account of his insanely long legs. They must look amazing in a wetsuit. Learning to surf is looking more attractive by the moment. I'd probably fill out a wetsuit really well too.

Once I've finished with Diane, Deeks comes ambling over.

"See any good sushi knives lately?" It's just too good an opportunity to resist.

"They were more interesting that the crock pots. What is a crock pot anyway?"

I look at him incredulously. "How can you not know what a crock pot is?"

"Because I lead an interesting life and don't sit at home watching infomercials?"

Okay, that was below the belt. I wish I had a sushi knife, because I would fillet Deeks into little tiny pieces right now. "If you don't know what a crock pot is, I'm not going to tell you," I say, with what I fondly hope is imperious dignity.

"You don't know, do you?" He's standing there, with his head to one side and that patient look on his face. I wonder if anyone's ever told Deeks that he looks like a dog waiting to be fed scraps from the table when he does that? A dog that is in need of a good brushing.

"I'm not going to answer that." I start walking towards the exit.

"That's because you don't know, isn't it? Come on, Kensi – you don't have to know everything, or be the best at everything."

I whirl around so fast that Deeks actually takes a couple of steps back. "Yes, I do Deeks. I absolutely have to be the best. Because I'm a woman working in a man's world, and that's the way it works. And even then most of the time some guy who is only half as good as me is going to be picked, simply because he can pee standing up."

"I don't think like that. You know I don't."

"Do I?" We're standing there, far too close for comfort.

"I'm not the enemy, Kensi. I'm your partner. And I even let you drive."

"The day I let you let me do anything is the day I've got a temperature of 110." God, that was a complicated sentence. But it almost made sense. I think.

Deeks blinks a couple of times. "I think you'd be dead."

"Exactly. Can we go now, or do you want to go drool over some more sushi knives?"

"It's the crock pots, isn't it? That's what's got you mad?"

"It's not the crock pots, Deeks." I relent, because he's trying his best. And we all know how trying Deeks can be. "I'm just kind of cranky today. It doesn't mean anything."

It's just that talking with Diane has made me think about Jack, and how much he changed too. And it made me think about the fact we were supposed to get married: me and Jack. But that's not something I talk about to anybody. That's some I suppress and push so deep down inside my soul it is almost hidden. Because it still hurts. It hurts so much that he could walk out and leave me. I wonder if I'll ever get over that feeling – that feeling that I am so utterly inconsequential Jack could just walk out without a backward glance. There is no way that I am ever going to let another man get close enough to hurt me like that ever again.

"It's the crock pots," Deeks decides. And I decide it's easier just to let him think that. And then he comes up with one of his off the wall ideas. "How about we share one?"

This is such a ridiculous idea it makes me smile. "How's that going to work?"

"We could have joint custody? Sure, it'll be complicated but it could work. If we want it to." I know what he's trying to say. I know exactly what he's trying to say and it is so sweet that I could hug him. Only I don't. I am very careful to keep my hands to myself, because today of all days, I think that if I started to hug Deeks I might never let go.

Eventually, we strike a bargain: Deeks buys the crock pot and he's going to invite me round for a meal. That seems like a pretty good deal to me. I get the best of both worlds.


	19. Special Delivery: Part II

When we get back to the Mission, it is to discover that we can hardly move in our team area. You'll note my choice of phrase. I refuse to call it 'the bullpen', however much the guys try to persuade me otherwise. They seem to manage to conveniently overlook the fact that I am a female and that 'cow' is a derogatory term, when applied to women. Mind you, 'bull' is equally insulting, now I come to think about it. Of course, maybe they want to call it the bullpen, because that's where they throw around a whole lot of bull? Not that it matter, in the long-run. Anyway, the reason we can't move is because of the number of boxes that have suddenly materialised and are piled all around the place. Boxes full of papers: loose papers, files, receipts – you name it. Basically, if you can write something down on a piece of paper and then stuff it in a box, that's what we've got to go through. And it's all thanks to Callen and Sam. Nice work, guys. We all hate paperwork at the best of times, and they've brought back of couple of tons worth of the stuff for us to wade through. Way to go there.

It turns out that Eric uncovered a lead to the California Jewellery Mart (see what I mean about there being recurring themes in case?), and when they went there, the guys stumbled upon one Jacob Rosen, who was well-known by the other traders as the man to go to if you've got something to sell and you don't want too many questions asked. When I say 'stumbled', I mean that quite literally, seeing as how he was sprawled on the floor, as dead as a doornail and also missing a hand. Either we've got a killer with a weird fetish for hands, or there is some significance to this – a significance that is totally eluding us at the moment. However, the answer could be in the reams of paperwork Mr Rosen has left behind him. Now, far be it from me to criticise a colleague, but really – when LAPD offer to let you take away anything you need in the way of evidence from a crime scene, alarm bells should ring. Seems like the exclusively male team was a bit deaf today, because here we are, surrounded by about twenty years' worth of paperwork. Paperwork that we now have to go through, piece by piece, line by line. It looks like we could be here for an awfully long time…

Sometimes the fates smile on you and today was one of those days. It was about time, given the crappy run of cases I've been landed with recently. I was due a break. I just didn't expect that all the puzzle pieces would start to fall into place quite so quickly. Because after only half an hour we made a link between Rosen and a former jeweller to Sadam Hussain called Aziz Anshiri, who has a store on Rodeo Drive and then managed to tie that rather neatly to the fact that Porter's former squad leader was accused of looting from the National Museum of Iraq. Now, if Porter was trying to fence some stolen national treasures, Rosen was the man to go to. And it's possible that the devoutly Muslim Anshiri would take great offence to this. Guess what? Sharia law calls for the cutting off a thief's hand. The clues were all there and you didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to put them together.

It's a great theory – but that's all it was. We need some concrete evidence. And the only way we're going to get that is to go to Anshiri's shop. Quite why this had to involve Deeks and I posing as an engaged couple, I'll ever know. I've no idea whose bright idea that was. Who would ever look at Deeks and me and think for one second that we were involved, far less that we were engaged? That's just ridiculous, isn't it? It has to be possibly the lamest cover I've ever used in my life.

* * *

><p>Clearly, we've got a lot of work to do if anybody is going to buy us as a couple, far less as a couple with serious spending power. Hetty produces a magnificent Rolex watch, one that has to be worth at least twelve thousand dollars, and she starts waxing lyrical about all its design features. Deeks just looks at her and asks if it shoots out poison gas. He's just a big kid with a James Bond fetish, that's what he is. Not that I have anything against Bond movies – as long as they are either the Sean Connery ones, or the Pierce Brosnan ones. Don't get me started on Daniel Craig, because he is not and will never be James Bond. Bond should be handsome and wise-cracking, with a smile that melts hearts from a thousand yards and be as deadly with a gun as he with the ladies. If only I could find a man like that I'd hold onto him and never let him go. I guess I'd better just keep looking because men like that scarce on the ground around here.<p>

Well, if Deeks got some pretty cool arm candy, then mine was even better. It took the form of a museum quality bracelet, which actually came from the tomb of an ancient Babelonian Queen. It took my breath away just looking at it and the thought of wearing something that unique and ancient took my breath away. According to Hetty, until recently the bracelet was displayed in the museum in Baghdad. I'm pretty sure Deeks was tempted to ask exactly how it had ended up in Hetty's possession, so I give him a sharp dig in the ribs and he subsides quickly, like a deflating balloon. The boy is learning, I'll say that much for him. It's just that sometimes he needs a bit of a hand. With Hetty, often it's better not to ask sometimes, because then you don't know. It's only too true that a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.

That was step one in our cover. Step two was the clothes. Hetty usually leaves me to my own devices, given that I have great taste. I had the perfect outfit for a young, rich and achingly-hip woman already picked out. It consisted of black leather boots with five inch stiletto heels and came over my knees and I teamed it with skin tight black jeans and a slim-fitted black leather jacket. You can tell that I wasn't planning on running after any suspects or indeed doing anything too energetic.

"I'm not sure black's really my colour," Deeks said when I informed him that he'd have to colour co-ordinate with me. "I'm more of a navy-blue type of guy. It brings out the colour of my eyes."

Like he needs any help in that department. The bright golden hair and tanned skin do that very nicely all by themselves. I didn't say that, of course. I didn't need to say anything, because Hetty took matters into her own hands, almost literally. She beckoned, and Deeks started to follow her, like a little lamb going to the slaughter, mainly because he didn't realise what was going to happen. He'll know better next time. And Hetty will probably put a collar and lead around his neck.

"I don't need your help to get dressed." Deeks literally digs his heels into the ground when he discovers himself standing in front of the changing cubicles. Pity for him the Mission has flagstone floors, so that little trick didn't help him at all.

"But you do need some help in the costume department." Hetty looks him up and down and then pursed her lips together.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"It's the shirt, Deeks," I call helpfully from the safety of my own cubicle. "It sucks." The pants were fine though. In fact, the pants were fine indeed.

"It looks like something a retired dentist might play golf in," Hetty says, after careful consideration. That shut Deeks up. I'm guessing that she then hands him a few choice items of clothing, and my partner takes them without a murmur. It couldn't last though: this is Deeks after all. Mr Motormouth himself.

"Why do I have to go into your dressing-up cupboard? Why can't I just use the changing rooms?" he protests. Really, you would think he would have learned by now. You just don't argue with Hetty, because there is no way you are going to win. Mind you, Deeks did have a point, I have to admit that. I'd often wondered the same myself, usually while I was worried that someone would be able to see through the gap in the curtain when I was standing there in my underwear. And if you are thinking that by 'someone' I mean Deeks, you are entirely correct.

"Because I want to see how you look, Mr Deeks," Hetty said, in long-suffering tones."Of course, if you would rather I accompanied you tinot the gentlemen's changing facilities, then you just have to say the word and I will oblige."

"No that's fine." And that sentence ends on a squeak as the curtain rings rattled, indicating that Hetty wanted to see the results of her choices.

"No, that doesn't work. Burnt orange is not your colour."

"I could have told you that," Deeks mutters darkly and hauls the curtain back into place.

I judge this is an opportune time to make my appearance, and am gratified to see Hetty give me a nod of approval. Black leather is a good look for me, even if I say so myself.

"What are you trying on now, Deeks?"

"A black shirt," he says shortly.

"Do not tuck it in."

Deeks' head appears around the curtain. "I don't need you to tell me how to dress."

"Are you sure? The evidence suggests otherwise. Like that golf shirt you were wearing earlier."

"It's not a golf shirt. And I don't even play golf."

"So why have you got a golf-shirt?"

"Maybe Mr Deeks is approaching the game gradually, by a somewhat circuitous route?" Hetty clearly thought it was time to enter the madness. This was a good thing, as it meant that Deeks didn't say anything else, but just came out wearing the black shirt and dark jeans. He looked good, I have to say. No change there then.

"Much better. But why aren't you wearing the black shoes I gave you?"

Sure enough, Deeks is standing there in his socks.

"They're too small. And before you say anything about me being too big for my boots, Kensi – can I just remind you they're Hetty's boots."

"I wouldn't lower myself. Big Foot." I couldn't resist that.

Deeks looks at me, with that expression on his face I have come to know – and to dread. "You do know what they say about men with big feet, don't you?"

"That they have to wear big shoes?" Hetty takes the wind out of his sails with that remark and even Deeks can't manage to come up with a rejoinder.

* * *

><p>For some reason, Callen and Sam decide they have to come with us to Ashiri's shop and wait outside. I am almost certain that this is because they want to see how we act as a 'couple'. And I've no doubt that they are sitting in the car, talking about us, making jokes about how we look together. They're probably jealous, because they never get to do this. Mind you, I'm still not sure that they don't do it in private.<p>

Deeks is very aware that he's being watched, and he cannot resist the temptation to try to hold my hand. He gets short shrift with that little manoeuvre, I can tell you. He's only doing it to try to prove to them that he's not intimidated by having an audience, that he can keep up with the big boys. It's kind of endearing, actually – only I am not going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that. I need every advantage I can get, after all.

As we walk across the road, I can see our reflections in the glass of the shop windows: we look good. Correction: we look really good. Deeks looks like some kind of rock star, what with the dark clothing and the shaggy hair. And I look good beside him. I can't help thinking how good I'd look on his arm if he really was a rock star and we were at a concert, or on a red carpet somewhere. We just look right together somehow. We look like we belong together, in a way that's never happened when I've acted as Callen's lady on various operations. That was never convincing – well, not to me at any rate. Maybe it was the big age difference, or the fact that Callen and I are almost the same height. I could never have got away with wearing these high heeled boots if I was with Callen. Anything more than a one inch heel and we just looked ridiculous together – kind of like how Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes do. You just look at them and think that something is intrinsically wrong there. But Deeks is so tall and we just look like a couple out of some celebrity magazine. If you saw us, I swear you would think we were together – and that you think that even if we weren't together, then we should be. Which only goes to show how deceiving appearances can be, doesn't it? Because we are partners and nothing more.

So, there I was, doing what every girl dreams of doing – namely choosing an engagement ring. With Deeks. Like that is ever going to happen. But a girl can dream, can't she? Only Deeks shattered that dream by saying "my sweet". I swear, I thought I was going to be sick. He's been watching to many tv shows from the 1950s. So when he tries to slip his hand around my waist, I grind my heel into his foot. Hard. That's the beauty of stilettos – it's basically a shoe that's also a weapon. If all else fails, you can take a stiletto shoe off, hold it by the heel and then beat your assailant over the head with the shoe part. Or gouge his eye out with the stiletto. I adore multi-functional devices. The man who invented the Swiss Army knife deserves a medal. Mind you, he probably got one of those numbered bank accounts they have in Switzerland, which is even better when you think about it. Who cares about a medal when you've got loads of lovely tax-free cash instead? And of course, some countries just give out medals to anyone. Would you believe that there is a penguin living in Edinburgh Zoo that's got loads of medals – real ones – awarded to him by Norway? He's even Colonel in Chief of the Norwegian King's Guard. I kid you not. Of course, Deeks claims he is Norwegian-American, which explains a lot.

Anyway, there we were, playing all 'young and in love', and Ashiri must think he's in for a great sale.

"I want a really big one," I say, and you can practically see the dollar signs lighting up in his eyes, like a slot machine in Vegas.

Deeks doesn't miss a beat. "She told me size doesn't matter."

"Just the size of your wallet, sweetheart." I twinkle endearingly at Ashiri. "He's very well-endowed you know. Financially speaking, of course."

He doesn't know what to say. Neither does Deeks, come to that. I life up my arm to push my hair back, and my sleeve falls back, revealing the bracelet. You can almost feel the icy cold come into the shop and the temperature drops by several degrees. Suddenly, Ashiri doesn't care about the sale. He doesn't care about anything, except getting us out of the shop. Okay, the guy is definitely sketchy.

"I can't help you," he says again, ushering us outside. Oh yes you can, Mr Ashiri. I've got this feeling you're going to help us a whole lot.

Deeks waits until we're out of the shop before he speaks again. "That was a low blow, Princess."

"I've no idea what you're talking about, my sweet."

"That quip about being well-endowed."

"Well? Aren't you?" I turn on my heel and leave him mulling it over. I don't have to look back to know that a slow, satisfied smile is creeping across his face. I noticed. Of course I noticed. I'd have to be next in line for a seeing-eye dog if I hadn't noticed.

* * *

><p><em>That bit about the penguin in Edinburgh Zoo? It is true, every single word of it. A friend of mine reckons it is only a matter of time before Nils Olav (the penguin) is named next in line to the throne!<em>


	20. Special Delivery: Part III

We've still not got enough evidence for the guys to bring Ashiri in for questioning, so Deeks and I pick up a warrant and then swing by his house too look for anything that might tie him to the murders, while they tail him and hope he trips up somewhere along the line. You'd be surprised how often that happens. The Ashiri house is a strange place: opulent enough, but strangely impersonal and almost soulless. I get no sense of the people who live here, none at all. It certainly isn't a home, despite the lavish touches. Mind you, when Mrs Ashiri comes in, she doesn't exactly strike me as much of a wife either. For starters, she's much more concerned about her invasion of privacy and doesn't ask after her husband at all. You read that right. She doesn't say one single word about him and she doesn't look worried – on the contrary, she just looks pissed off. I'm pretty sure there's embalming fluid running through her veins and the icy-looks she throws in my direction send cold shivers down my spine. I cannot see her as being the warm and supportive type of partner.

"We'll be respectful of your home," I tell her, mainly because I wouldn't put it past her to have a large knife hidden underneath her hijab, and she just looks at me with eyes that are as dead and emotionless as a fish lying on a slab.

Deeks says nothing, he's too busy searching and keeping as far away from Mrs Ashiri as possible, but I reckon he'd agree with my knife theory. If anyone from this house was a killer, my money would be on the female of the species, that's for sure. Sharing a bed with her must be like cuddling up to the iceberg that sank the Titanic. I find this toolbox, which is kind of a strange thing to have lying around the dining room of a smart house like this. Unless Mrs A produces meals that need to be attacked with a hammer and chisel, of course. And guess what I find inside the toolbox? A bloodstained knife and what looks like an antique necklace. Things are not looking good for the Ashiris. Mrs Ashiri looks absolutely disgusted with us. I kind of feel the same way towards her, I must admit.

I'd love to have enough evidence to bring her in for questioning, but when we contact the Mission, it's only to discover that the dynamic duo have beaten us to it and have not only hauled in Ashiri, but have pretty much ruled him out as a suspect. Sometimes you think you've got it made, only to discover the taste is not quite as sweet as you thought it would be. This is one of these times, because Sam then informs us that Ashiri is being set-up, and the knife just proves it. If he was the killer and justifying his actions under Sharia law, then he would have followed a specific ritual and the knife would have been wrapped in a sacred cloth. Great. So we leave without Mrs Ashiri (who looks as if she would just love to spit on me) but with the evidence.

* * *

><p>And it's back to the ranch we go. Or rather the Mission. This case is beginning to get me down. First there is poor Diane and her marriage that is never going to happen, and then there is Mrs Ashiri, who looks as if the only thing that concerns her about her husband is getting him free as soon as possible so he can go out and earn some more money to keep her in the manner to which she is accustomed. I could be wrong, but I can't feel any love in that marriage – not coming from her at any rate. It's depressing, it really is. I try to be a romantic and believe in true love, but life just seems determined to prove me wrong.<p>

However, on the bright side, Eric and Nell have been beavering away, researching the necklace Deeks found. You should see the two of them working together – it's like they are conjoined twins, the way they can share a keyboard. I think Hetty might just have created a monster there. And I have the definite feeling that Nell is going to outlast all our other intell. analysts put together. I'm not quite sure if that is good or bad. I mean, she is good at her job – she's actually great at her job. But it's just that she is so damned annoying at times. She claims she has borderline ADHD and that's why she keeps jumping in and finishing other people's sentences, but I have never seen anyone more focused in my whole life. I might just be imagining things, but there's something kind of hinky about Nell, something that sets my spider sense tingling. I'm going to have to keep an eye on her.

**Note to self: do not, under any circumstances, ever let Deeks find out about your comic book collection, Kensi. He will never let you hear the end of it. You do not need to give him anything he can use as leverage against you. He already knows too much.**

Anyway, getting back to the necklace, Eric informs us it is from Mesopotamia (which is now Iraq, Nelll informs us, like we're are slightly backward children), belonged to one Queen Puabi and was found in her grave which was discovered in 1922. I think it's a safe bet to assume that it was well-documented and used to be in a museum, no doubt falling under the category of 'national treasure'. In fact it was not unlike the bracelet I was wearing a couple of hours ago in that respect. The bracelet I was very careful not to ask Hetty about.

We do some more digging and find that copious other treasures from the Queen's tomb were looted after the fall of Baghdad. It is at this point that Nell makes the jaw-dropping statement that she bets the rest of the grave goods were in Porter's briefcase. No shit, Sherlock. Does she really think we hadn't already made that connection? Or is she just providing a handy recap for anyone that hasn't been paying attention or something? Honestly, this is like one of those reality shows where they give you _an aide memoire_ after every single commercial break, just in case you've only got the attention span of a gnat and can't remember what happened five minutes ago. Eric puts his head in his hands for a moment and we all leave Ops as quickly as possible before one of does says or does something he or she might later regret.

* * *

><p>And that means it is back to digging through Jacob Rosen's collection of every piece of paper that crossed his desk for the last twenty years. For Deeks and I, that is. Our compatriots manage to escape that singular joy, because Eric has managed to locate footage of a car registered to one of Porter's Marine buddies entering the Beverley Hills Mall parking garage just minutes before Porter was killed. PFC Winston's car is then seen leaving shortly afterwards. We need a solid lead and I don't see why Deeks and I couldn't go head on over to Pendelton and bring him in for questioning. It's practically home territory for me after all. I grew up there. But no, Deeks and I are stuck here with all that paperwork while the big boys get to go out and play. I really hate it when they pull rank like that. Winston looks like a pretty safe bet – Porter owed him money after all and it looks like he got tired of waiting for payday.<p>

Now, minutely examining paperwork is a mind-numbing task at the best of times, because you have to be alert for anything that might give you a clue. A case isn't over until it is air-tight – even when you get a confession. You also have to have the evidence. And the more evidence you have, the better. So it was grunt work for us – but it was necessary. I can't really complain, no matter how much I wanted to, so I just have to get on with it.

Matters are not helped by the fact that Deeks is in one of his annoying moods. No change there then. He couldn't just sit and go through the files like a normal person, could he? Oh no, of course, not – this is Deeks we are talking about. So he had to sit there, tapping out this rhythm with his pencil until I could feel my fingers just itching to make contact with his neck and then squeeze very tightly indeed.

"Deeks!" I can't stand it any longer, so I shout at him, kind of like the way you yell at a dog that had just cocked its leg on your sofa.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" he says, acting like he's all surprised. Again, just like a dog that gives you a blank look of incomprehension, when all the while the mangled remains of your best Manolo's are dangling from its mouth. Not that I have any Manolos of course. I'm a federal agent and I don't get paid nearly enough to be able to buy shoes like that. Actually, I don't get paid nearly enough, period. And I don't even have a dog, but you get the point, don't you? A while back, Deeks said that he thought I would have a cat – something sleek and stylish. I could see him with a dog, some sort of shaggy mutt that would trot at his heels and look up at him with a goofy expression of adoration on its face.

"I'm not mad, Deeks. Dogs get mad, but people? People get angry." And right now I'm angry.

"This is about the jewellery store, isn't it?"

No, Deeks – this is about the fact you are being really, really annoying, I think. By this stage I can't trust myself to say anything. How come Deeks can manage to make me so mad so quickly?

"I was just trying to sell the fact that we were a couple." He tries to sound all insouciant, and to give him his due, he almost succeeded.

"Like anyone would believe we were a couple." I try not to sound bitter.

"Right. You are so not my type."

What? What the hell does he mean by that? How can I not be his type? Exactly what is his type? And what sort of type am I anyway? I can't let this one go without saying something.

"Would you care to explain?" And then would you care to come a little closer so that I don't have to reach too far when I stab you with my pencil?

Deeks isn't looking at me, he's staring at this piece of paper. "Found something." There is a distinct air of triumph in his voice and I scoot over to take a look only my chair hits something and it almost topples over and I go flying. The next thing I know, Deeks has his arms around me. As in both his arms. And he's holding on tight. He's a strong guy, is Deeks. Nicely muscled arms. Great definition. If you like that sort of thing. My face is pressed up against his chest.

"You've got to stop throwing yourself at me, Kensi." He's grinning at me, damn him. This is like some grotesque parody of Rhett Butler sweeping Scarlet O'Hara off her feet.

"Put me down, Deeks." I wriggle furiously, but he holds on. This is kind of great, but I figure I've got to make a token gesture.

"Yeah, right. I don't know where you've been, do I?"

"Put me down right now, or else." Veiled threats are good, I usually find. Only this is Deeks. Normal doesn't work with Deeks after all.

"Or else what?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in that annoying fashion he has.

I want to say "Or I'll kiss you so hard you'll forget to keep breathing," but somehow I manage to squirm my way free. "Never mind."

"Go on."

"Go on what?"

"Ask me."

"Ask you what, Deeks? How you got to be so annoying? Okay – I'll bite. Were you born that way or did you take lessons?"

"Did you know there's a vein in your forehead that stands out when you're really mad?" he says, totally a propos of nothing and in a conversational tone of voice, like he's being completely reasonable.

"Did you know you've got really big nostrils?" I can't help myself. If there's one thing that spoils his face – his fabulous face- it's the outsize nostrils. AS well as all the rubbish that comes out of his mouth, of course.

"That doesn't stop you having a thing for me though, does it?"

"I do not have a thing for you, Deeks," I say, very slowly and very clearly, and loudly enough so that everybody in the Mission can hear. I might just send them all an email just to make sure they got the message.

"So why did you throw yourself into my arms?"

"I did not throw myself at you!" I'm practically screaming now. I'm pretty sure I've got some Valium tucked away at the bottom of my purse for emergencies and now seems as good a time as any.

"So you want to know or don't you?"

"Know what?" I could hit my head off the desk, I really could. Better still, I could thump Deeks' head off the desk. That would work for me. And then I could kiss him better.

"What I found. I know it's distracting, sitting next to me – but you have to try and pay attention."

I thought Nell was annoying? Nell is an angel compared to Deeks. "Tell me, Deeks. Just tell me."

"Why you're not my type? Or what I found in the ledger?"

"Guess." Wisely, Deeks heeds the threat in my voice and stops fooling around.

"Okay – well, here's the thing. Rosen had a courier, who just happened to be an old friend. He didn't want to risk getting caught transporting stolen property, although he was stupid enough to put all the details down on paper – including the payments he made to the courier. Go figure."

"So who was the courier? Winston?" I'm standing up now and bending over peering over Deeks' shoulder, or to be more exact, I'm actually resting my chin on his shoulder. He's not objecting, so I reckon he was just having me on when he said I wasn't his type. Of course I'm his type. Why wouldn't I be his type?

Deeks shakes his head and I almost get a mouthful of hair. "Nope. It was Peterson." He sounds almost gleeful. It seems that Peterson, who was also one of Porters buddies had popped up on the original LAPD 'persons of interest' list and Callen and Sam had actually spoken to him up at Pendleton. They hadn't found any reason to bring him in for questioning. Whoops…

"So Sam and Callen are barking up the wrong tree I the wrong place?" I try hard not to smirk, but it's not easy and I'm not trying very hard in the first place. It's nice to see that the junior team can come out on top sometimes. Who am I kidding? It's brilliant. As is the position I find myself in, leaning over the back of Deeks' chair. I can smell the scent of the ocean in his hair. I could reach forward and hug him, only I don't. I have great self-control, sad to say.

"Exactly." Deeks holds his hand up, palm facing backwards. "Put it there, partner."

I do. I slap his open palm with my hand and I could kiss him. Platonically, of course.

And that is pretty much it for this case. Sam and Callen go haring off in pursuit of Peterson, who is stupid enough to try to outrun them. Guess what? He doesn't succeed. And guess what else? He's got Porter's briefcase, which just happens to contain all the missing jewellery. All except the necklace, of course.

In the end we were able to weave all the strands together. Pay close attention, because this gets complicated and questions will be asked later on. First, there was The Thief: Porter, who stole the jewels in Iraq, smuggled them home and gave them to his friend Peterson, The Fence. Next, The Fence got in touch with his old mate, Rosen, The Crook who thought that Ashiri, The Believer, might be interested in buying them. That was where his toes turned up, because The Believer wanted nothing to do with the jewels, which he rightly regarded as cultural treasures. And then things went really wrong, because The Fence got greedy, and he killed The Thief and The Crook, and then he tried to frame not only The Believer by planting The Necklace on him but also PFC Winston, The Good Guy and the one person who actually had enough scruples not to be involved with the whole sorry affair, by borrowing his car.

In the end it was all about money, of course. It usually is, I've found. But ultimately we got our guy, and that was what mattered. Now, if only I could get mine…

* * *

><p>So, when I think of this case, I'll thing of it as the one with all the jewellery. That all went into evidence of course. Peterson will be tried not only for the deaths of Porter and Peterson, but also for attempting to sell stolen goods. Actually, that's not quite right. Not everything we recovered went into evidence. You see, there was this one little black box that somehow wasn't entered into the log. It didn't contain anything spectacular, just a simple engagement ring, with a modest little diamond that sparkled bravely. There was no reason for it to break my heart when Hetty handed it to me, but it did. In fact, I could hardly speak. Even thieves have a soft side, it seems. As does Hetty. We both knew what I was going to do, but neither of us said a word. Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie. I have got very good at watching the wall* since I joined NCIS.<p>

And then, just when I thought that I might disgrace myself, all hell broke loose. I am talking about a blast of party poppers that had half the agents pulling out their guns, fearing we were under siege. This was accompanied by loud music and a shower of confetti and streamers, which poured down upon our illustrious leader, who stood as if rooted to the spot as Nell trotted down from Ops, positively wreathed in smiles.

What with everything that had gone on, I'd completely forgotten it was Hetty's birthday. We all had. Everyone had forgotten – except Nell, who handed Hetty a present she said was from all of us. She didn't need to do that. That was kind and thoughtful and I think I've badly misjudged the girl. If only she wouldn't talk quite so much. Mind you, Deeks is kind of voluble, and I've got used to him. It's hard to think of my life without Deeks in it, if you really want to know. So I'm guessing Nell will grow on me too. Pretty much everyone has their good points, after all. Even Porter, as it turned out.

I watched as the rest of the team went off with Hetty to indulge in some alcohol. After today, I could really have done with a drink, but there was something I had to do first.

* * *

><p><em>* From <strong>A Smuggler's Song<strong>, by Rudyard Kipling. To 'watch the wall' is to deliberately ignore what is happening._

_An Epilogue will follow, of course!_


	21. Special Delivery: Epilogue

**Wednesday 27th October, 2010  
>Special Delivery: Epilogue<strong>

Her number was programmed into my cell, like I'd known we'd be meeting again and she answered on the first ring.

"Hi, Diane? It's Kensi. Special Agent Kensi Blye? Of NCIS?"

"I remember." Her voice sounds thick and yet raw at the same time, as if she's been crying forever. She probably has been. I remember I cried for three days straight when Jack left.

"Diane, I'm sorry, because I know it's kind of late, but I was wondering if I could come over to see you?"

"I don't think I can tell you anything more."

She sounds as if she is at the end of her tether and I know exactly where Diane is, because I have been there. I have walked along that lonely road, hand in hand with myself as I thought about how many other roads had taken Jack gradually further and further away from me, until he became a virtual stranger who eventually walked out on me, as easily if he was merely kicking the dust off his shoes. Jack walked out without a second glance and he never once looked back or even bothered to send me a text to let me know he was okay. That showed me how much he didn't care. He probably started his new life straight away, while I struggled to even get out of bed. In a lot of ways, I wish Jack had died before he shattered all my illusions about love and life. I know it nearly killed me when he walked out, because I didn't want to live without him. If he'd only had the decency to die, then maybe I'd be able to let myself fall in love again and not be so afraid of getting hurt again. If he'd died, at least I would have still had all my hopes and dreams left intact. Instead, he crushed them underfoot in his hurry to get away from me. I realised a long time ago that the only way I can stop getting hurt like that again is by making sure that I never get so involved with any man ever again. It's selfish, I know it is, but if Jack had died, then at least I would still have had my memories of the time we spent together left untarnished and I would have been able to think about all the good times. Instead, I look back and I wonder how much of what I remember is actually true and if Jack ever loved me. How could he have loved me and walked out on me? This case has stirred up so many memories and it's hard not to feel personally involved. I need to see Diane, because I think that maybe I can ease her pain just enough for her to be able to keep on living.

"Diane - we've got Thomas's killer."

There's a long silence at the other end of the phone before she finally speaks. "Good."

I realise that nothing else matters to Diane: not who killed Thomas, or even why he was killed. All that matters is that he is dead and his killer has been apprehended. The rest are mere details because Thomas is dead, he is never coming back and nothing else really matters. I know that Diane will be sitting in her apartment, looking at the door and trying to come to terms with the fact that she will never hear his footsteps again, never hear his voice or see his smile and I remember feeling that there was no point in living after Jack left, because he was my life. But that was a long time ago and I was another person back then. Somehow I found the strength to keep get out of bed the next day, and then the day after that and gradually it got a little bit easier. Now I look back and I wonder why I didn't have the sense to kick Jack out months before he left, right around the time he turned into an emotional vampire. Nate taught me that phrase. I miss Nate. I don't know where he is right now, and I just hope he's okay. More of those roads coming between me and the people I care about, I guess.

"I really need to see you, Diane. I've got something to give you." Finally, she agrees that I can come over.

I just hope that when I give her the ring it might help to ease her grief a little, if she realises that although he might have changed in some way, Thomas did love her, and he'd bought her the ring she'd always dreamt about. As for the rest – she doesn't need to know about the looting and everything that happened afterwards. Why should I trample on Diane's dreams any more than life has already done? I open the box and look at the diamond ring and all it is meant to represent before snapping it shut again. When it comes right down to it, a diamond is only a lump of carbon, after all. It's nothing special in itself. It's the symbolism we attach to it that makes a diamond something to be coveted. And then I open the box again and take another look. It is a pretty ring. It's exactly what an engagement ring should be. I'd love a ring like that. I'd love to be in a relationship again.

And today, there I was, standing in a shop and pretending to choose a ring, with Deeks at my side. That should be funny, I should be laughing at the thought of that. Because I'm not his type, after all. Another of life's little ironies that's come up to slap me in the face, because he is my type. He is so my type. He's the one man that might make me change my mind about not becoming involved again after Jack. But I'm not his type and that's all there is to it.

When I get to Diane's, we have an uneasy meeting, and I can understand that. Everything is still so very raw and Diane is grieving, and at the same time she is wondering what happened to the man she fell in love with. She's wondering if she ever really knew Thomas. He was an idiot, that's obvious. And a thief. But he wasn't all bad… If you'd seen Diane's face when she opened the box and saw the ring, I know you'd agree with me. Thomas redeemed himself with that ring.

"That's the ring. The ring I chose." Her face lights up when she sees it and it's like I've given her the sun and the moon and all the stars to play with. It's just a modest ring, with a rather small diamond, but it means everything to her. And it restores just a little bit of my faith in the human race.

"We found it with Thomas's things. I thought you should have it."

Diane just keeps staring at the ring, like she can't quite believe what she is seeing.

"I think he really loved you and he just wanted you to be happy."

She's crying again, but this time there is just a little bit of joy intermingled with the sorrow and sadness, and the fresh green bitterness. As I leave, I hope that the ring will give her a little comfort and will let her believe in her dead fiancé and the love they once shared. So what if I've glossed over a few things? Exactly who am I hurting by doing that? Diane deserves the chance to go on and find happiness again. She deserves to look back at her time with Jack and believe that they really were happy. I don't want her to end up like me – lonely and alone and afraid to ever love another man again.

Well, I did the right thing. Too often in this job I only get to see the worst of people, and I never get to have closure. I hate that word, but tonight I tried to make a difference, to ease Diane's pain a little and in some small way to try to make amends for all that I've done in my life. And if that is closure, then fine. But I know that there are other people I should speak to and things I should say, only I'm not ready for that yet. There are still some more miles I have to travel down my road before I will be ready to revisit the past and to see if things look any different now. One day I will take that journey, but not tonight.

* * *

><p>As I'm walking to my car, my cell goes off. I look at the display and see that it's Deeks. Of course it is Deeks. No doubt by now he's drunk far too much whisky and wants a ride home.<p>

"Kensi? Are you busy?"

What did I tell you? I know him far too well. "Kind of, Deeks. It's been a long day."

"I know. You don't look busy."

"What?"

"I said that you don't look busy." And he doesn't sound drunk. "Look across the road."

He's right there, leaning against his car, cell in one hand and the other is waving at me. And there's a big grin on his face.

"What are you doing, Deeks?"

"Waving in an attractive, 'come hither, young maid' sort of manner?"

Despite myself, I start to smile. "You're an idiot."

"I know. I could be drinking a very nice single malt, instead of going bowling with you."

"Bowling? Who said anything about bowling?" For some reason I'm walking across the street to join him, still talking into my cell even when we are only a few feet apart.

"I did. Why – do you have other plans?" Deeks ends the call and stands there looking at me.

Well, there's a heap of out-of-date food in my fridge that needs to be heaved, the bath could do with a good clean and if I don't do some laundry soon I'm going to have to go out and buy myself a whole new lot of underwear instead, but apart from that…

"I've not got any plans. And bowling sounds good."

It sounds like fun. I haven't been bowling for years, although dad and I used to go every week. Maybe I'll tell Deeks that, just about the time I'm starting to beat him hollow. Not that I'm competitive.

"So it's a date?" He's opening the car door for me.

"It's not a date, Deeks. Don't kid youself."

But it might just be exactly what I need right now. Not all men let you down, you see. The occasional one manages to be there when you need him, to be there even when you don't even know that you need him. I don't know where Deeks learned to be so sweet and I'm pretty sure I don't deserve to have a partner who cares enough to look out for me even when we're off duty, but I am so glad that I've got him in my life that I might even let him win the first frame. And then I'm going to whip the pants off him. Which is possibly the best image ever and one that has me grinning from ear to ear. Deeks bowling in his boxers? Priceless. So I'm not his type? Too bad. It's his loss.

"It's alright, Fern. I know you love me, deep down inside."

"Shut up and drive, Deeks."

"Have I ever told you how much I love it when you're bossy?"

Have I ever told him how much I love the way he looks out for me? Or how much I love working with him? Of course not. And I never will. That's not the way we work, you see. And that's the tragedy. Because I think that under other circumstances Deeks might be the one that makes me stop being afraid and lets me start to love again.

"Come on, we both know I'm not your type, Deeks. You said so."

"I could be persuaded to change my mind."

"In your dreams."

"Is that you giving me permission to dream about you?"

"What do you reckon?"

"I reckon we're going bowling, Fern."

And I reckon he's right. "So why are we sitting here?"

I could swear Deeks blushes, but it is dark, so it's hard to be sure. "Close your eyes."

"Why?" My voice is laced with suspicion and not a small amount of dread.

"So it's a surprise."

"You're not going to kiss me, are you?" Why the hell did I say that? Of course he's not going to kiss me. Am I completely mad?

"Would it be so bad if I did? No, don't answer that." Deeks reaches across into the back seat and hands me a bunch of flowers: daisies, with their sweet innocent little faces like small pieces of sunshine. "I just thought today was kind of hard on you, and maybe I didn't help much."

Sometimes the most unlikely of men can do just exactly the right thing and by doing so manage to take your breath away.

"Thank you, Deeks." He's definitely blushing now and he looks so cute. I can see the kid he must have been, once upon time. And then I lean across and kiss him on the cheek.

Maybe I can learn to trust again. And once I've mastered that, who knows what might happen? But tonight I just need him to be my partner, who looks out for me and drives me mad and gives me bunches of daisies.

"Now let's go bowling so I can whip your ass."

"Is that a promise?"

Definitely. And one day I might just get to do that for real. And in the meantime, I have my dreams too.

* * *

><p><em>And here endeth the epilogue!<em>  
><em>or WHN - which stands for "What Happened Next".<em>


	22. Little Angels: Part I

**Monday, 1****st**** November, 2010  
>Little Angels<strong>

Have you ever thought that just as you're starting to get to know somebody- to really know them, I mean, then they turn right around and do something so that all you can see is this complete stranger? Sometimes I wonder why people can't just be honest and tell the truth. How much simpler things would be if we did that. For starters, I wouldn't have to spend most of my weekends searching around for truths that have been so well hidden I sometimes wonder if I'm ever going to uncover them. But just because something is difficult, that's no reason to give up, right? And I'm not exactly lying to anybody either, am I? I'm just not being totally open and honest, and that's completely different, isn't it? Well, I think it is. And it's not like I've done any harm… except maybe access a few records unconnected with any case I've ever worked on – officially. Anyway, that's not the point and this isn't about me. Well, it is sort of about me, but only in a round-about way. And this isn't making any sort of sense at all, is it? I'd better start again, right at the beginning.

First off, chaetophobia is a perfectly valid fear. Fear of hair isn't that unusual and it is not peculiar, so your team mates should respect that. You wouldn't make fun of somebody who was afraid of heights, or enclosed spaces, would you? So I fail to see what is so funny about me having this intense dislike of excess male body hair, in particular men with back hair that is so long and shaggy it needs to be combed. In my book, that is just completely gross and totally uncalled for. Haven't they ever heard of shaving? Or even waxing? I think that as phobias go, mine is actually quite understandable and perfectly reasonable. Whatever happened to tolerance and acceptance within the workplace? And before you say anything and remind me of that time in the desert when I might have laughed at Deeks and his fear of snakes, can I just mention that was a teeny, tiny little snake that was just lying there and minding its own business? Until Deeks blew its head off, of course. Now, that was an over-reaction, if ever I saw one. I mean, if I discover my date has a hairy back, I'm not exactly going to kill him over that, am I? No, of course I'm not. I'm just going to run screaming out of the door.

This morning, I was seriously tempted to kill Deeks. Really, truly seriously tempted. Somehow he has managed to find out that I've been using this online dating site. That doesn't make me a bad person, or even a desperate woman, but it wasn't something I wanted anyone else to know about. I have a right to a private life, don't I? Don't I? And if Deeks has found about one part of it, then what else might he have found out about? Is the guy stalking me or something? This could be bad, really bad. What I get up to on my weekends off is my business and nobody elses.

You see, this is exactly what I mean about thinking you know someone and then you turn around and find that instead of your slightly whacky partner you've got this cyber-stalker who can see into every corner of your life. And that's what I call creepy. Sooner or later I am going to corner Deeks, and I am going to force him to tell me how he managed to work out that I'd joined _Romancing The One_ in the first place, far less discovering what my screen name is. I couldn't do that. How can he do that? Unless Eric is helping him.

Oh God, that's it. It's Eric. He's the mole. I knew I shouldn't have trusted him, but I needed a tame computer geek to help me with this whole online dating thing in the first place. Next time I am going to have to listen to my instincts, because now I bet Eric has gone and told Deeks. That's it – it has to be. How else could he have found out? Eric is a dead man. They both are. Only I'm going to take a long, long time killing Deeks and I am going to enjoy every single second of the process. I knew it was kind of risky, but what else was I supposed to do, given the state of my love life. Or rather the lack of my love life. I reckon I've got two main problems as far as that's concerned.

The first is that I've got good taste. It is not that I'm picky, because that's so far from the truth as to be out of the ballpark. I just have certain standards. Clearly, any man with excessive body hair is ruled out from the start, as is anyone more than two years younger than me (I don't want to give Deeks any more ammunition against me than he already has, for example calling me a cougar), the guy has to have his own teeth and definitely his own hair (hair transplants are creepy and never look right and extensions on men just make me think of Fabio, which is so much of a turn-off as to be untrue) and he's got to be funny and clever and not mind the fact that I work stupid hours. And he cannot, absolutely cannot be a co-worker. Obviously. Not that I would want to date a co-worker, of course. I mean, why would I? I see more than enough of Deeks at work as it is.

Now, these basic requests actually rule out an awful lot of potential dates, even before you start to factor in little things like physical attraction and sexual compatibility. I like tall men, with lean bodies – not too muscular, because guys that are overly pumped-up look great when they're stripped and ready for action, but stick them in street clothes and they just look fat. And the lack of a neck these body-builder types tend to have is a major turn off. Plus there's the fact that they all use steroids and we all know what that does to a man's sex drive. And I don't like a guy who tries too hard, or one that doesn't have a sense of humour. And this is without going into any specific details, like hair (yes please, only confined to head and other essential areas only) and eye colour (I don't really have a preference, although blue is kind of nice).

The second problem is that I get bored easily. You meet me and take me out and I guarantee we will have a great time. I'm very possibly the best first date girl in this town. And I do not mean in that way. Don't believe everything you read because not everybody puts out on the first date, even in LA. Well, maybe if you're in the entertainment business, or your daddy owns a chain of hotels or your initials are one letter short of the KKK, but apart from that, the rest of us are all pretty normal and prefer to wait a while. No, my problem comes with the second date. That's when I start to get antsy, bored, distant, impatient and irritable. And it's usually because by then I've begun to suss out all the little lies and inconsistencies I'm being fed. Do men really think that beautiful women are automatically stupid? Or am I just unlucky?

That's why I thought that if I joined an online dating site, then I could get to know a guy online, and try to avoid all my second date blues. Just for once, it would be nice to go out on a third date and maybe even a fourth. Which is why I needed Eric's help in the first place. I had this great idea that he could help me check out what the guys said online, you know – make sure it all panned out, check for employment records, prison files – that sort of thing. Okay, that was a dumb idea, I know that now, but at the time it actually seemed quite clever. I just didn't think that Eric would go blabbing to Deeks of all people. Death is too good for Eric, I've decided. I might just set him up on a blind date with Nell instead. That'll teach him. And as for Deeks…

Did I say I've got two problems with my love life? I've got three, if you really must know. The third one is called Detective Martin Deeks. The chaos he causes is not just restricted to my love life, but kind of seeps out and infiltrates every part of my life, sort of in the same way that mould does when you inadvertently leave a piece of cheese out on the counter, hidden behind the kettle for a couple of months. That stuff is seriously creepy. It gets everwhere and you have to use serious amounts of bleach. Deeks is seriously annoying. He's got no right to interfere with my love life, because it's got nothing to do with him. He's my partner and any 'relationship' we might have ends the instant I leave work. There's no question about that. I don't give him a single second's thought outside of work. And after spending all day with Deeks at work, why would I want to spend any of my precious free-time with him when I could be out looking for romance and the man who is going to make a real difference in my life.

Okay, we might have hung out together a couple of times. We might even have had fun. But it means nothing. Absolutely nothing. In fact, it means less than nothing. And Eric Beale – if you are reading this, and I kind of suspect you are – you can just go right off and tell Deeks that he means nothing to me. In the scheme of things Deeks is just an amoebae floating around in some primordial swamp. In fact, he's less than that. He doesn't figure in my dating plans at all, not in the slightest. Who on earth would want a relationship with Deeks?

I'd just like to make it clear that there is nothing bad about registering with an online dating site. It does not mean that you are desperate, or that you've given up all hope or even that you've got six fingers on each hand and a vestigial tail. And _Romancing The One_ is a very reputable site, one that facilitates like-minded professionals with busy and demanding lives getting in touch with one another. It does not smack of desperation. I'd like to make that quite clear. And of course I've used a screen name: that is a basic security precaution and security is practically my middle name. (It's not actually, it's Marie, but that's beside the point).

"Starting a relationship with a lie – how's that ever going to lead to true love?" Deeks asked. That's when I discovered he knew about the website, damn his bonny blue eyes. If I really tried, I reckon I could hit him right between them with my eraser, but I'm too dignified to do that, more's the pity.

It's a good thing that Deeks sits across from me, rather than beside me and it's even better that there's a ten foot gap in between us, because his jugular was looking awful tempting from where I was sitting. To be perfectly honest (and Eric, I don't care if you are reading this because 1) you are a dead man, as I think I've already mentioned and 2) I have to have some release valve and keeping this journal helps me to keep my sanity) Deeks was looking awfully tempting today. His hair was doing that whole surfery-thing it does so well – you know, all kind of blond and flopping into loose waves and he had on this blue chambray shirt that was a great colour on him. Deeks just looked like the personification of the healthy Californian lifestyle and you wouldn't have been surprised to see him in an advert in _Men's Fitness and Health_. Because Deeks is fit, make no mistake about that.

Despite what Deeks said, I would just like to point out that I never said I was looking for true love in the first place. I'm just looking for someone. Someone I felt something for, someone I could have a thing for. I'm necessarily looking for love, although that would be nice. It's been a long time since I felt loved. To be honest, just finding a friend would be good.

I was so sure that Deeks was winding me up about the dating site, and that he would never be able to find my profile, what with the false name, the huge number of people on the site and the fact that not many people seem to have looked at my profile for some strange reason I'm still trying to work out. What is so wrong about saying you're looking for a man who has his own teeth and doesn't have a criminal record? Despite what Deeks might think, that is not setting the bar especially high - is it? And while Callen thought that liking first dates at the zoo was pretty weird, I think it shows a cute, fun-loving side to me, just for anyone who might think that my passions for martial arts and techno music are a bit off-putting. Of course, I lied there. Everybody does. I'm just not brave enough to put my consuming passion for Michael Buble up on the web for everyone to see just yet. And liking techno music makes me sound really cool and hip – which I am, obviously.

"Charlene St James." Deeks rolled the words around his mouth with considerable relish while I just about restrained myself from throwing my stapler at his head. It's a heavy-duty model, and big enough to knock a couple of teeth out, if you pitch it just right. "Is that your porn star name?"

Of course it isn't. What a stupid thing to say. Everybody knows that you get your porn star name by taking your first pet and your mother's maiden name, which would make me Jaws Feldman. So I had a piranha as a pet? Do you want to make something of that? I just wasn't into cutesy, fluffy pets. And while Jaws is a great name for a piranha, Jaws Feldman is a completely ridiculous name, even for a porn star, which is why I chose something completely different and came up with a name that was elegant, sophisticated and glamorous. Added to which, the last thing I want to do is to use my mother's maiden name, thank you very much. I've tried to forget about her for over fifteen years and I'm doing just fine without her. I don't need her and I don't miss her in the slightest. She ruined my dad's life and then she tried to take me away from him.

Oh God. He's found it. He's found my page and he's reading out from it. I want to die. I want to dive underneath the desk and curl up into a little ball and make the whole world go away. How could Deeks do this to me? I thought he was different. I thought we had some sort of thing and that I could trust him. I can't let him see how much he's hurt me. I've got to sit here and tough it out, pretending that it doesn't matter. It matters.

"Hoarders." Deeks was continuing to look through my list of dislikes and he raised his eyebrows at that. "Really?"

That was uncalled for. Just because my apartment is slightly cluttered. It makes perfect sense that I'm looking for a man who is neat and tidy and doesn't come walking in to work looking as if he's just run up from the beach. Deeks has no right to go prying around my life. The guys all think that the whole dating site thing is kind of funny, but it isn't. It's an intrusion into my privacy and it's not right. It's like he's holding me up to public ridicule and I feel like I'm back in high school all over again. I honestly feel like he's betrayed me or something. So you can see what I meant about thinking you know someone. Deeks doesn't know anything about me, not one single thing, despite what he might think and definitely despite what he read on that dating site. this is my life and it's not something for any of them to joke about. Especially Deeks. Hanging is too good for him. Maybe I could stake him out on the foreshore and watch as the waves roll slowly in and drown him? it's bad enough that Callen and Sam are laughing at me, but Deeks? It doesn't get any worse than that.

And then Eric called us up to Ops, because we had another case and I could have hugged him. And then stabbed him in the back, just so he would know what it felt like. What I wasn't counting on was how this case would make me feel, or the impact it would have on another member of the team.

* * *

><p><em>I really felt for Kensi in this ep, as you can probably guess!<em>


	23. Little Angels: Part II

_Kensi's bad day just gets a little worse..._

* * *

><p>There are some cases that you just get an instant connection with, and this is one of them. Not in a good way though. This case hits me harder than most, because I can identify so deeply with the circumstances. There's a missing teen and her name is Angela. Her father's a Commander in the Navy, he has the highest security clearance you can get, and as he's the creator of all the Naval cryptographic logons, there's a good chance that she's been kidnapped to use as leverage against him. Angela is fourteen, and she lives alone with her father, because her mother died four years ago. The circumstances are slightly different from my own, but there are enough similarities to send a shiver down my spine. I know exactly what it's like to be not only a service brat, but to live with your Dad because your mother's not around anymore. As we talk to him, Jason Rehme confesses that he's having a little difficulty adjusting to the fact that Angela has started dating and I think back to my dad and all the lectures he gave me about boys. I wonder what Dad would have made of Deeks?<p>

Commaner Rehme is frantic – that's not too strong a word to use, and again I can't help thinking about my own father, and what he would have been like if I'd gone missing. Again. Because there was that time when my mom tried to take me away from him. I soon put a stop to that. I basically got out of her car, ran as fast as I could and then started making my way back home. It took me a while, but eventually I managed to get to a phone. Dad must have broken every land-speed record getting to me. Once he'd stopped hugging me, I got a lecture that I'll never forget, but there were tears in his eyes the whole time, so I knew I'd done the right thing. Now I can look back and realise how terrified he must have been, both when Mom took me and then when she called to say I'd given her the slip, but Dad never spoke about it again. What he did do was to tell me how much he loved me, and how proud he was of me every single day – and I would tell him that I loved him too, because has was the best dad in the world. He was my hero. There was nothing my dad couldn't do, as far as I was concerned. I still love him. You don't stop loving someone just because they're dead. I never saw my mother after I got back to Dad, and I don't miss her at all. Once upon a time, I loved her too, but that was a long time ago and I was a different person then.

I want to tell Jason Rehme that I understand how difficult it is for a single father to deal with a teenage daughter, far less when you've got a service career to add into the mix, but he is barely holding it together. And things get a lot worse when he gets an email with an embedded link that takes him to this gruesome video showing Angela being buried alive. If that was me, my Dad would have gone ballistic, but he was on active service and he was good in a crisis. Poor Rehme just kind of crumples under the strain and when the FBI contact us with news that this kidnapping is linked to three previous abduction/murders I really think he's going to lose it.

You see, now that the FBI have made the link with these previous cases, that means this is out of our jurisdiction. It's officially no longer an NCIS case, and given the circumstances, we're only too happy to hand it over. You just look at the facts: three girls who were buried alive, and only two bodies were ever recovered; there's a guy serving time in Victorville Penitentiary for those crimes and now Angela is missing in circumstances that are more than just a coincidence. This has got all the hallmarks of either a serial killer who evaded justice, or a copy-cat killer. None of the previous victims had any connection to the Navy, so it looks like Angela was just unlucky. I'll say…

We all know that the chances of finding Angela at all are slim to non-existent, and nobody is even going to comment on the chances of finding her alive. Again, I see the similarities to my own life, but in reverse. I'm watching Commander Rehme go through what I went through all those years ago when they came and told me my dad was dead. I don't want to go back to that time. I want to leave this house and go back to the Mission and try to forget about Angela and her father, because this is bringing up so memories and they've lost none of their power to hurt me. One day I will find who killed my dad. I made a promise to him the night he was killed and I will keep that promise, no matter how long it takes me.

We might be keen to hand over to the FBI – at least Callen, Deeks and I are. But Sam has got other ideas. He's insisting we take this case, and when Callen tries to tell Commander Rehme that it's no longer ours to run because it's an FBI matter, Sam over-rules him. Now, that's not the way that pair work. They might joke around a whole lot, they might even seem to be joined at the hip (and somewhere else, for all I know) but I've never seen Sam downright contradict Callen – not over anything that really matters, that is. Sure, they can be ultra-competitive – but then show me a man that isn't? I mean, that's what that snake in the grass Deeks was doing, when he publically humiliated me earlier on with that stupid website. He wanted to make me look stupid in order to make himself look better. Well, he succeeded. Bully for him. Next time he wants his ego stroked I'm going to stroke it alright – with barbed wire. But Sam and Callen – well, they're the established act: the senior agents, the old guard – call them what you want, but everyone admits they are a great partnership. They live quite comfortably in each others' pockets and for a while there Callen was pretty much living at Sam's house. And now they are facing each other down, like a pair of gunfighters waiting to see who will blink first.

"I told the man I would see what I can do," Sam says stubbornly, as we drive back to the Mission. Deeks and I are sitting in the back, and all we can see is two backs that are rigid with indignation.

"It's not your call to make." Callen is politely emphatic: he knows he's right and what's more, he knows that Sam knows he's right.

Well, that was the wrong thing to say. Sam doesn't care if Callen is right or wrong. "You got a problem with that, G?"

It looks like there is trouble in paradise and Deeks and I aren't the only ones whose partnership has just run into a brickwall. Only for some reason I feel worse about seeing Callen and Sam bickering.

Callen takes a deep breath. I can actually hear him inhale very slowly, hold it for a count of ten and then exhale in as controlled a manner as he can manage. "I think you're the one with the problem, Sam. How about we talk about it?"

"How about you keep your thoughts to yourself until someone asks for your opinion?"

Wow. This is awkward. If it wasn't for the fact that Sam's driving at eighty miles an hour, I'd be bailing out the side door. I sneak a look at Deeks and he's got a kind of frozen look on his face.

"This is like being a kid again, and Mom and Dad are having another one of their blowouts," he whispers.

"Except they've both got guns," I remind him. I'm not quite sure why I'm talking to Deeks at all, given that I've been indulging in fantasies about various unpleasant deaths, all of which are far too good for him, but anything is preferrable to listening to Sam and Callen quarrel. The only thing I can think of that upset me more is when the Backstreet Boys split up and I cried for a week.

"So did Mom and Dad." He must see my look of disbelief out of the corner of his eye. "What? You mean your folks didn't?"

Enough is enough. "Would you just stop it with the cryptic veiled hints about how crappy your childhood was, Deeks? It's pretty old and I don't believe a word of it. And even if it is true – which I doubt – just get over it. You're here, you survived, didn't you? So it couldn't have been that bad. What do you want – sympathy or something? Those pathetic references might work with some girls, but they don't work with me."

Deeks gives me one of those unreadable looks he seems to specialise in. "How about we go to the zoo instead?"

Okay. That's it. That is officially it. I've had it. That's one crack too many. So I said I liked first dates at the zoo. Big deal. It's not a crime. But what I'm going to Deeks is, because the moment we're back at the Mission, I'm taking Deeks into the gym and I am going to obliterate him. He'll be lucky if he can crawl, let alone walk by the time I've finished with him. "How about we go to the morgue instead?"

"Wow. That's kinky. Do you say that to all the guys?"

"Just the ones I want to leave there. In one of the drawers, complete with a tag saying "I pissed off Kensi Blye."

"And you wonder why you never get a second date?"

And that was below the belt. Deeks is lucky he's got anything left below the belt right now, given I carry my dad's K-Bar knife. I was right not to trust him, not to tell him too much about my dad, because he's just going to blab to the whole world and then where would I be? It was just that, for a moment, I thought we might have had something. I thought that maybe I might be able to confide in him, that he'd be there for me, come what may and with no questions asked. I was wrong. Nobody knows how messed-up I am inside, what demons drive me from within, but sometimes I just get so tired and I just want somebody to take me in their arms, to tell me that everything will be alright. It was stupid to think for one single second that Deeks might have been that someone. I must have been mad.

As of right now I am swearing off men. All men. And that includes Heckle and Jeckle who are glowering at each other in the front of the car as well as Blondie sitting in the back beside me. He doesn't know how lucky he is to still be in one piece.

So it's a tense journey, to say the least. We all sit there in silence, just staring out of the car windows and not saying a word. Well, everyone except Deeks. He's playing DoodleJump on his phone and giving us a running commentary on his progress all the time. He has to be the most annoying man I have ever met and I feel so sorry for his poor, sweet parents. They must wonder if they got given the wrong baby at the hospital. Really, they should go back and ask if they can get a refund or something. Actually, that's not a bad idea. Maybe we could swap Deeks for a liaison officer that doesn't drive everyone mad? Just as long as the next one is about six foot two, blond hair, blue eyes and fills out a pair of jeans insanely well. If he was mute too, that would be an added bonus. I can lip read, after all.

We stomp back in to the Mission, three seriously pissed-off agents, plus Deeks, who is still glued to that stupid game and nearly falls over his own feet because he's not looking where he's going and then starts moaning about how he's just missed getting an all-time high score. The dream-team is in disarray and as for Deeks and I – well, we were never seriously in consideration, were we? We're just the poor relations, the also-rans. Callen and Sam have been together for four years now and we're not even going to make 12 months at this rate. Which is fine by me. Why would I want to celebrate an anniversary with Deeks? What are we supposed to do – have a cake and champagne, toast each other and then have a nice romantic dance? I don't think so. In fact, I know so. I can't work with this man any longer. Once this case is over, that's it.

That scares me, and it kind of excites me at the same time. Okay – so I can't work with Deeks. That's not my fault – it's his. And it's Hetty's, for putting the two of us together in the first place. She should have known it would never work. What was she thinking? Did somebody slip some acid into her tea or something? But there is one thing – maybe if we're not working together any more, we might have some space to sit down and try and work things out. On a personal level. Because despite everything that's gone down today, I can't help feeling something for Deeks. He just gets to me at some deep level. And it's probably nothing, but I've got this feeling that maybe I've been looking for love in all the wrong places. If Deeks isn't my partner, then maybe he can be something else – like my lover. I'm crazy, right? Completely certifiable. But I can't help how I feel about him. There's just something about him, something I can't put my finger on… and then again I know exactly where I'd like to put each single one of my fingers on that body of his, and how I'd like to run them through his insanely gorgeous hair. If I could just figure out a way of making him keep his big mouth shut… Maybe I could gag him and then handcuff him to my bed? That might work.

If this case is making me do a whole series of mental cartwheels, then I think it's pulling Callen and Sam apart. Sam is hurting – and he's hurting Callen, and by extension he's hurting the whole team. I've never seen Sam like this – so intensely focused and so driven. It's like there's some inner demon just driving him on, tearing him apart from the inside out. Callen can see it too, but he's confused – this isn't his partner, the man he shares everything with. This is a stranger, and for once Callen doesn't know what to say or what to do. When Sam gives Hetty a _fait accompli_, by telling her that either we continue to work on the case or he will take a leave of absence, I'm just surprised that Callen doesn't put his head in his hands and weep. Sam has just thrown down the gauntlet and we all just stand and wait for Hetty to remind him that he's a federal agent who is threatening his boss with gross insubordination.

Hetty just looks at him, a long, slow, measured look and Sam holds her gaze without blinking. There are very few people in the world who can do that, and I realise that there is something personal for Sam with this case, something about it is gnawing on Sam's soul and that he has to do this: he literally does not have a choice. Clearly, Hetty recognises that too, for she agrees.

So, like it or not (and personally, I don't) we're on the case. The one good thing is that Deeks is out of my hair, because he's promptly despatched over to Victorville to go to interview that creep who was convicted of killing those two young girls – killing them by burying them alive in shallow graves, so that they slowly suffocated to death, trapped in narrow wooden boxes as the oxygen slowly ran out. I can't begin to imagine the terrors they must have gone through. I don't want to imagine that, but I know that at some point I'm going to have nightmares about it. You can't work on a case like this and not be affected. It sort of puts my own problems into perspective.

Nine hours. Eric has done some quick calculations and he works out that Angela has no more than nine hours of oxygen left. She's fourteen years old and she's got nine hours left to live? That's obscene. We're never going to find her in nine hours, not even with FBI help. The two bodies that were recovered were found in the Los Angeles National Forest, and that's huge. There's no way we are ever going to find Angela in time when there's over one thousand square miles to search. She's as good as dead, poor little soul. She should be out in the sunshine, having fun with her friends, or hanging out with her dad. I wonder if either of them realised how great just being together really was? I just hope Commander Rehme has this huge panoply of golden memories all stored up, because he's going to need them.

No parent should ever have to lose a child. I wonder how my mom coped with losing me, but I don't want to think about that, I don't want to think about her, and I push the thought of her deep back down into my mind and then firmly shut the door behind it, so that I can no longer see her face. It's just that sometimes when I dream, I can still smell her perfume. And sometimes I'll be walking past a woman and I will smell that same scent and for a moment all the old emotions come swirling back up and I'm so dizzy I can hardly stand. But mostly I don't think about her at all. Why would I? I manage just fine without her.

It's clear that Sam is not going to give up until he finds Angela, even if that means personally going over every square foot of the forest by himself. There's something magnificent about his obsession, and if ever I was in danger like Angela is, then I know I'd want Sam looking for me. Just to keep everyone on their toes, Sam makes Eric set up this counter to go on all the screens and our cells, with a picture of Angela smiling down at us, as the minutes she has left to live tick slowly away. If we don't find her, this is going to tear him apart, and it might just put a huge wedge between him and his partner. Callen knows this, but Sam is impervious – he's a driven man and the only thing that is even vaguely registering on his radar is Angela. His partner doesn't even begin to feature. I want to tell Callen that I understand, but I can't seem to find the words. Sam's got a kid – I think. He doesn't talk much about his family, but Callen let something slip once. I wonder if Sam's got a little girl and that's why he's acting like a man possessed? It would make sense - but why would he be pushing Callen away? Why won't he let Callen help. Sam is hurting – and he's hurting Callen, as if that's the only way he can cope with the pain.

I hate this case. I hate it for all the memories it is bringing up for me, for creating whatever is propelling Sam along this path to self-destruction, for pulling our teams in a dozen different directions, but most of all, I hate it because somewhere out in the forest lies a young girl who is already breathing stale air and is scared out of her wits, while her father sits and weeps, and worries and waits. He must know deep down that he is never going to see his daughter again. I wonder how long my mom cried for after I was gone? Of course, she had a new man to comfort her. Poor Jason Rehme has no-one. He only had his daughter. I just hope she loved him as much as I loved my dad.

* * *

><p><em>While this episode concentrates on the impact the case has upon Sam, I was struck by the similarities to Kensi's own life and started to think about how it must have affected her too. The tension between Sam and Callen is underplayed, but it is very real. For the first time we realise that they do not share everything.<em>


	24. Little Angels: Part III and Epilogue

I'm never going to complain again when we get a case that involves a dead Marine. I promise you that. This case is getting to each one of us, albeit in a different way. Deeks gets to spend time with a murdering sociopath, who started off by killing cats at summer camp when he was just a kid; I'm plagued with thoughts about my father, and to a lesser extent, my mother and Callen is worried sick about Sam, who continues to behave as if there is a demon on his back, one that is spurring him on relentlessly. In fact, Callen is so worried about his partner, who is refusing to talk and bottling everything up inside him, that he actually goes to talk to Hetty about it. It's a mark of how serious Hetty views the situation that she doesn't send Callen away with a flea in this ear and tell him not to tell tales out of class. Instead, she gives him a single page from Sam's personnel file, which makes grim reading. Sam lived through a similar experience to Angela Rehme years ago in Bosnia. My team-mate was buried alive, along with a fellow Seal. And while Sam made it through the ordeal, his buddy didn't. So now Sam feels that he has to make sure Angela survives. This case resonates with him on a very personal level. This time Sam is determined that he is going to save someone.

"I never knew." Callen told me later that he just stared at the piece of paper in disbelief, struggling to comprehend not only what had taken place, but why his partner had chosen to bury this so deep down inside himself that it was impossible to talk about. "And I thought we were close." Not once had Sam ever mentioned this horrific experience, or even hinted about it.

"In our line of work we are all haunted by nightmares," Hetty said, before safely retrieving the page and returning it to the file.

* * *

><p>"How many times has Sam sat up with me, and let talk about my nightmares?" Callen asks me when we get a moment alone. "He's let me go on and on about my past, and never once said anything about himself – his own fears." I can see that he is plagued not only by guilt, but about doubts. If Sam could withhold something of this magnitude, what else hasn't he said? Callen's beginning to doubt if he really knows his partner after all. It's shaking his faith in everything he thought was solid, undermining the very foundations of their relationship. For the first time ever, I can see that Callen is scared.<p>

"Maybe he couldn't talk about it – not even to you," I suggest. "Or maybe he couldn't talk about to you, because he can't admit weakness. Sam feels he let his buddy down – by not saving him too. Or maybe even because Sam survived and his friend didn't, and now Sam feels guilty about that."

"That's ridiculous. Isn't it?" Callen desperately wants to believe that it isn't his fault.

"It's Sam. It's just the way he is. All we can do is be there for him when he needs us." Since when did I get so wise? For some reason I'm thinking about Deeks when I say that. He and I – well, we've been there for each other a few times. I should be able to rise above the petty annoyance of that whole website fiasco. I'm a better person than that, even if I do want to throw a whole load of diuretic tablets into Deeks' coffee, and then take him out onto the freeway in the middle of rush hour and watch him squirm in agony. Actually, I must remember that idea: I'll file it away for future use.

But in the meantime, there is work to be done, so Callen has to put his best game face on and pretend he's not in beating himself up about Sam, and I've got to pretend that everything is just fine and this is just abother case. We're professional, we can do this. Angela's depending on us, so we have to do this.

* * *

><p>Our first port of call is to the Margos house, which is pretty sumptuous. Andre Margos is brother to Lucas Margos, who is the man convicted of the earlierkillings. And a car registered to Margos' company was seen leaving the forest in the early hours of the morning. At last we've got a break in this case and we're going to have to work fast to crack it wide open, before Angela suffocates to death. I try not to think of her lying in that cramped, dark box, but I can't help it. What must she be going through? Is she crying and calling out for her Daddy to come rescue her? Is she asking her Mommy up in heaven to help her? I know I'm just torturing myself with these thoughts, but I can't help it. You see, they can train me to be a great shot, to pick locks and defuse bombs – but underneath all that competence, I'm still just me. I still hurt, no matter how brave a face I try to put on things. Sometimes it's easy to lose sight of the human perspective, but not in this case. Sam's made sure of that, with Angela's picture on every screen. And every time I see that bright smile, it hurts just a little bit more.<p>

We have six hours left. No, that's wrong, because this is not about us, it's about Angela. Angela has got just six hours of breathable air left. The clock is still moving towards her death and we're no nearer to finding her. Margos' wife provided him with an alibi. Now there's a surprise. Except she is lying. I know that and she knows that I know. It's just that I can't prove it – yet. And each brother is incriminating the other. This is one seriously mixed-up family. I stay at their house, hoping she'll make a mistake, just one little slip that will allow us to find Angela. The Margos boys are about the same age as Angela, but their mother seems completely unmoved by the facts of the case. She's remote, almost uninterested, hiding behind a façade she's maintained for a long time. That brittle mask stays in place, even when we take Andre into custody. Now we've got them separated, maybe one of them will talk? We can but hope.

Time passes. Andre trots out another alibi, one that explains his wife's detachment. He was with his mistress last night. And he taped their rendezvous in great detail. He also managed to record the evening news on TV. It's air-tight – Andre is officially innocent. Well, he's innocent of abducting Angela. There's still the small matter of adultery…

It is three pm and there are only four hours remaining. Or two hundred and forty minutes. It sounds worse when you put it like that, I think. It's not good which ever way you look at it. Deeks brings Lucas Margos to the forest in a semi-desperate move to try to move things on, and then Sam 'persuades' Margos to finally reveal where he buried his third victim. Sam can be very persuasive, very persuasive indeed. At least her parents will be able to bury their daughter now, at least they finally know that she is dead and will never come home. What cold comfort that is. The bad news is that as Lucas was safely encarcerated in Victorville Penitentiary last night, and there was no way he could have abducted Angela.

So we are back to where we started: neither the Margos brothers could not have done it and that means we have no other suspects, no other leads and no idea where Angela is. We have nothing, and that means we have nothing to lose. And that's when we come up with the idea of trying a bit of good old-fashioned subterfuge, but brought bang up to date with some crafty computer wizardry. The tape of Commander Rehme was sent showed the person who abducted Angela was wearing blue surgical gloves. It's relatively simple for Eric digitally manipulate the images to show one glove was left behind at the scene. A glove that would contain DNA. Sure, it's a long shot, but what have we got to lose right now? If we don't do something, then Angela's going to lose her life and Jason Rehme might just lose his reason for living. That means it's worth the gamble. So Eric works his magic and we go back over to the Margos place and show them the tape. Then it's a question of waiting and knowing there is nothing more we can, except watching the minutes tick by and trying not to go mad.

With thirty minutes to go, Callen and Sam get the break we've been waiting for when a car enters the western part of the park. With Eric tracking heat signatures by satellite, they're able to apprehend the two Margos boys. Yes, you read that right. Those two deviant teens got it into their warped little minds that they wanted to 'know what it felt like to kill'. Just like their Uncle Lucas, I bet. Some things really do run in families after all. Angela was just unlucky enough to go to camp with them, and when they found out her house backed onto the park that made her an ideal victim. After all the things I've seen and all the things I've done, I thought I'd lost the capacity to be shocked, but this just takes my breath away. What kind of creatures are they, when a life is reduced to something for them to toy with in this fashion?

Neither Callen or Sam will divulge exactly what they said to the boys that made them take to Angela's grave so quickly. I'm not sure I really want to know anyway and I definitely don't care if they terrified the Margos brats so that they peed their pants. They don't look so brave now they've been caught. They just look like two stupid, spoilt brats who are about to find out how tough life can be. Not that it matters anyway.

All that matters is that Sam and Callen found Angela just in time. They had to ig her out with their bare hands, scrabbling away at the dirt in desperation. When I see them, Sam's hands are raw and bloody, with ripped nails and covered in scratches. Not that he cares. Angela is alive and that is all that matters. Tonight Angela is going home to her father – and she is going home alive. For once we've got a case with a genuinely happy ending, all the more so because two teens with a taste for murder have been caught before they've killed. With any luck, they'll be put away for a very long time indeed.

Callen waits until Angela and her father are reunited before he goes up to Sam, almost hesitantly. "I was really scared back there."

"It was close. Too close." Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Far too close."

"That's not what I'm talking about. Do you know what really scares me? The thought of losing my partner." He claps Sam on the shoulder, turns and then walks away, head down and Sam looks devastated.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 1<strong>**st**** November, 2010  
>Little Angels: Epilogue<strong>

Men aren't good at emotions. They basically deny they have any – especially men like Sam, who've been in the services and served multiple tours of duty. They learn how to bottle things up, to keep going under conditions that most people could not even begin to imagine and think that to show emotion is to admit a weakness. And men are even worse when it comes to talking about their emotions. Which is one of the reasons there are women on this earth – to balance things out. And given I'm the only female on the team, that means this is down to me.

"Let me take a look at your hands."

Sam is still too shocked by Callen's outburst to protest, so he just holds out his hands. They're a mess, but I don't care: he can get them looked at later on. Right now I have something more important to try to patch up, so I hold onto Sam's right hand with both of mine.

"Are you going to talk about it, or are you going to keep on pretending everything is fine, Sam?"

He's brusquely dismissive. "Case is over, Kensi. We got Angela back, we even got those punk kids. There's nothing to talk about."

"How about you tell me what you gave Angela when she was sitting in the back of the ambulance?" he is going to talk about this whether he wants to or not.

"You saw that?" Sam tries to pull his hand back, but I am holding on tightly. "Okay – it was dog tags."

That doesn't exactly make sense. "Your dog tags?"

All the resistance seems to go out of him. "Not mine. They belonged to a buddy of mine, called Brian. He died. A long time ago."

I'm beginning to put two and two together. "You served together, didn't you?"

Sam nods, and his fingers tighten around my hand. "I was there when he died. He died because he saved my life. And I saved Angela's, so it kind of seemed right that she should have Brian's dog tags. Maybe one day she can save someone, and pass them on."

I can hear the hurt in his voice, and I know how much this has cost him, how much today has wounded him. He's carried around this pain for far too long, but I think that now it might just have been released and in time Sam will feel the relief. We all carry scars, and sometimes it is the scars we hide inside ourselves that are the most painful.

"I think Brian would have liked that." And then I hug him, and Sam rests his head on top of mine.

"Thanks, Kensi." His voice is very low and he hugs me back, so hard that I can almost feel my ribs starting to buckle. But it feels good. It feels like we've got Sam back again. "I've been a real pain today, haven't I?"

"You've been hurting," I correct, managing to wriggle free. "And we've been hurting for you. All of us. But especially Callen."

"I hurt Callen, didn't I?" The realisation strikes Sam and he looks shocked. "I didn't mean to do that. It was just that…" He stops, still not able to talk about it properly – not to me at any rate. But he's made a start, and now I think he needs to talk to the person who knows him best.

"Go talk to Callen. He'll understand."

Sam nods. "You're something else, Kensi – you know that, right?"

"Thanks, Sam." I watch as he jogs off after Callen, and see that Deeks is standing watching me. I've tried to heal the rift in one partnership, so maybe I should follow my own example and build some bridges with my own partner? Then again – why should I? Maybe it would be better if Deeks went back to LAPD. That way, if I decided I ever wanted to see him again, we could start afresh, with none of the hang-ups about working together. Alternatively, we could just have great sex and then I could kill him and dump the body where nobody will ever find it. It's tempting, very tempting indeed. Talk about killing two birds with one stone. In my dreams…

"You're still mad at me, aren't you?" Deeks gives me one of his signature looks, which involves letting his eyes slide very slowly down the length of my entire body. Well, two can play at that game. I return his look, and let my eyes linger in a very strategic spot.

"Is my fly undone or something?"

"I don't know, Deeks – is it?"

Of course he can't resist the temptation to check and then has to bite back an exclamation when he finds he's been had.

"Sam's gone after Callen to apologise," I say, hoping he'll get the hint.

"Good." Deeks gives me a bland look. "Those guys are good together."

Clearly he's decided to take a leaf out of my book and start playing games too. Well, that's just fine by me. I'm really good at games and I'm highly competitive. Bring it on, Deeks, bring it on. Let's see how you like this:

"That's because they're more than partners, Deeks. They're friends. That's what makes them such a great team – because they actually care about each other. So when Sam was hurting, Callen hurt too. And that's why Callen put up with everything Sam was throwing at him today. Whereas you…." I should probably try to calm down a bit, to bite back my temper, but actually I can't be bothered.

"I deliberately hurt you?" Deeks suggests, totally taking the wind out of my sails. "That was low of me. And mean. And I'm sorry."

Big deal. It's too little, too late. "I know I'm not your type – you've made that very clear. But that doesn't mean I'm not somebody else's type, does it? That doesn't mean I don't want to be somebody's else type either. You don't want me, Deeks – but you want to make fun of me for wanting someone." I didn't mean to say that, but somehow the words just came blurting out my mouth.

"Kensi – I really am sorry. I didn't mean any of that. I went too far."

"You went way too far, Deeks. You crossed a line. You humiliated me and you made me feel stupid and you did that in front of my friends. How do you think I felt?"

"Kind of like I'm feeling right now?" His mouth is screwed up in a wry grimmace.

"Don't flatter yourself. You don't have the same sort of feelings as the rest of the human race. Everything's just a joke to you, isn't it? Including me. And anyway, even I was your type, I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on earth." The anger inside me is bubbling up corrosively and spewing out. I hadn't realised how much that quip he made about me not being his type had rankled until right now.

"Fair enough. I deserve that." Deeks leans back against the car and sighs. "You want to know something?"

"Not really, but I've got the feeling you're going to tell me anyway." I'm going to have to get a supply of these really huge jaw-breakers, and stick them into his mouth whenever he starts to talk. That would make life an awful lot easier.

"That website? When you get home, look up one John Brandel." He digs in his pocket and then tosses the car keys to me. "But you'd better be quick about it. By tonight, he's history."

I have never known a man who confuses me as much as Deeks. Who confuses me and annoys me and does the strangest things to me. I guess when it comes right down to it, I've never met a man like Deeks, period. Which is kind of a relief. Just imagine what the world would be like with two of him in it. No, don't. That's the way to madness. So I just concentrate on driving back to Santa Monica as fast as possible, because it has been a really long day and I'm shattered.

Being Deeks, he waits until we're back at the Mission before he drops his bombshell.

"By the way – I do want you."

I'm pretty sure my eyes bulge in disbelief when he comes out with that. "You could have fooled me."

"You're nobody's fool, Kensi. And you're a seriously great partner. The best. Bar none." And then he lopes off, leaving me standing wondering what the hell goes on in that mind of his. What exactly does that mean? Am I his type? Does he even have a type? And why am I so bothered anyway? I don't care what about Deeks at all. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And who is John Brandel anyway?

* * *

><p>Back home, before I delete Charlene St James' profile, I can't resist the temptation to do a quick search for John Brandel. His picture looks really like Deeks, which is weird. Why on earth would Deeks be looking for love on <em>Romancing The One<em>? It must be some kind of wind up – surely it must? Just to be sure, I read the page: John Brandel loves the ocean and his ideal first date is walking along the beach at sunset; his favourite food is sushi and he enjoys surfing, skiing and hiking. He says that he's been looking for love in all the wrong places… He sounds kind of nice, actually. I think he and Charlene might have got on really well.

When I check again an hour later, the page is gone. There's no trace of John Brandel, which is sort of a pity. But there is a text on my phone.

_Sorry. Maybe you can tell me where I went wrong and where I should be looking? JB_

That's one thing about Deeks: he might annoy the heck out of me, but he can also make me laugh, even when I don't want to. How can I stay mad at someone who makes me smile even when I'm still angry with him? Only I don't think I'm angry at him anymore. I've got another little glimpse into the real man behind the mask. I reply to the text:

_Get a better name next time. John Brandel sounds so phoney. _

And then I go to bed, and lie there thinking about Charlene St James, who was actually my first grade teacher. She was small, round and now I think about it, she was resolutely plain. But she was a fantastic teacher who could totally relate to children and she made me feel so good about myself that I thought she was the most wonderful woman I'd ever met. Wherever you are now, Miss St James, I hope you're happy, because you deserve to be. I've never forgotten you. I enjoyed being you for a short while, but maybe I'd better just concentrate on being Kensi, daughter of Donald, whose killer is still somewhere out there. One day, I will find him and in the meantime, I'll just keep on looking. And maybe somewhere along the way I'll find love as well. You never know.

* * *

><p><em>Well, there had to be some way Deeks was able to find Kensi's alias so quickly, didn't there? Other than bribing Eric, and that just doesn't seem in character for either of them. of course, it is exactly the sort of thing that evil plot bunny would do.<em>


	25. Stand Off: Part I

**Friday, 5****th**** November 2010  
>Stand Off<strong>

You know, ever since I joined NCIS, Sam and Callen have been held up to me as the perfect example of a partnership. At the beginning I pretty much hero-worshipped them and wondered if I could ever manage to build a relationship half as good with my partner. And when Dom was killed, I couldn't help but think it was my fault, that this would never have happened if he'd been paired with one of them instead, or if I was more like Sam or Callen. I blamed myself for Dom's death and I think a part of me always will. Which is why I've been making such an effort with Deeks, even if he does drive me to utter distraction.

Deeks has to be the most annoying man ever to walk the face of this green earth. Then again, he also happens to be drop-dead gorgeous, funny and a pretty smooth operator who can take care of himself – and me. And did I mention that's he's quite cute? Or that he has amazing hair? Okay, so that's pretty superficial, I guess. But exactly where in the NCIS Operating Manual does it say that I have to be serious all the time? Nowhere – that's where. I like a nice piece of eye-candy as much as the next woman, and I certainly got enough of that today, when we were down on the beach, and Deeks was lounging at my side in just a pair of board shorts. It's just that shirtless Deeks is kind of distracting, what with his tan, and his muscles, and that smooth chest and flat belly of his. And the way the hairs on his legs are all golden, the colour of wheat ripening in the sun. not that I was distracted from the task in hand at all, or even that I was staring at him. Anyway, I had sunglasses on, so there was no way he could have seen that I was ogling him. Even if I was – which I wasn't.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, because there was an awful lot went down before all that, although I have to admit that seeing Deeks in his beach wear was probably the highlight of the month so far. While the low point would have to be discovering that Sam and Callen are just as human as the rest of us, and that maybe their partnership isn't quite as great as it's cracked up to be.

I thought that they were getting things back together after the whole Angela Rehme incident, when Callen had felt so wounded because Sam had deliberately concealed what had to be a pretty defining incident in his life. You can't be buried alive along with a colleague who then dies and just walk away from that without some residual damage. And you see, the thing is that when you are in our line of work, you trust your partner with your life, so you have a right to know about things like that. So I could understand why Callen was so shocked. And it was more than that: he felt excluded. Their buddy bromance was definitely on shaky ground for a few days afterwards, but give the guys their due, they worked hard to regain each other's trust. But this case blew another big hole in things for them and it's made me wonder if I'm maybe better off working with Deeks after all, despite his wise-cracks, because he's a pretty straightforward guy: what you see is pretty much what you get, after all.

You can probably gather from the above that there was another huge grenade lobbed into our team this week. Callen has always been open about his past: we all know about his mysterious origins and the search for his family. He's told reams of stories about his times in the CIA, plus there's the fact that he and Sam never stop talking about all the different skills they've picked up during the four years they've been working together and all the aliases they've accumulated. To my way of looking at things, Callen is pretty much the epitome of open and honest. Which just goes to show how deceptive appearances can be. Because it turns out Callen has been hiding what has to be the biggest secret of all: like he was married. And it looks like he's never quite gotten over her. So bang goes my theory about him and Sam being something more than partners. Unless he swore off all women after she broke his heart? Come on – it's possible, isn't it? Now, while this came a surprise to all of us, it just about rocked Sam out of his cotton socks. And the day had been going so well up to that point. I'd even managed to make a tidy little sum out of Deeks...

When I came in, it was to discover that Deeks was showing off. Again. He does that quite a lot, and I think it's kind of like the little kid trying to show that he can keep up with the big boys. Today he was practising a variant on the good, old-fashioned shell game called "Find the Lady", beloved by hustlers the world over. Which is probably why Deeks is so good at it. Sadly for Deeks, he didn't realise that he was being set up, with Nell standing on the balcony, using an x-ray camera and transmitting the information to Sam, who was then signalling Callen. At the time I didn't know that either, but I did know that something was up, mainly because Callen wasn't taking the opportunity to go about how he'd trained as a magician. It's usually at this point that he also informs us that he prefers to be known as a prestidigitator. We know already, Callen – so do us all a favour and give it a rest, will you? It's not big and it's not clever, although it could get you fifty bucks an hour doing kiddies' parties if all else fails.

"You have to captivate the mark's eyes and ears with what you're doing with your mouth and your hands," Deeks says in an attempt to justify his patter, which consists of such statements as 'the kid is nice' (which is true) and 'watch Uncle Marty' (which is downright creepy).

Hey Deeks: why don't you tell me something I don't know? You see, I have a bit of a thing for Deeks' hands. He has lovely hands – very flexible and mobile, with long, slender fingers. And his mouth is okay too, as long as he's not speaking, of course. So there is no need for him to prattle on about captivating attention with his hands and mouth, because he's preaching to the choir. I could write a book about how captivating Deeks' hands and mouth are. Along with one or two other choice parts of his anatomy.

Anyway, between us we manage to relieve Deeks of a considerable amount of cash before Hetty has to break everything up and tell us that she doesn't approve of the way we are coercing Miss Jones into our 'shennanigans', which is when Callen has to let slip that the whole x-ray camera business was Nell's idea in the first place. The look on Deeks' face when he heard that was priceless and he sloped off up to Ops muttering something along the lines of "Super not-awesome" under his breath.

It seems that I'm not the only person who thinks that Deeks has a great ass (which I might have mentioned before) because I distinctly heard Hetty say "The kid is nice indeed," underneath her breath as she watched his denim-clad rear disappear upstairs. She's a wise woman, is Hetty.

So, there we all were standing in Ops and watching this hostage situation play out on live TV. It's taking place at the Naval Recruiting Centre and at least ten hostages were being used as a human shield, which meant that the LAPD SWAT team couldn't go in. According to the intelligence Eric had hastily gathered, a soccer mom called Tracey Keller was the person in charge, although she'd not made any demands at all.

Okay, that was definitely different. Had some sailor's kid fouled hers at the goalmouth or something? That was when Callen dropped his bombshell.

"Tracey Keller is an alias. That's my ex-wife."

It was immediately obvious that this was a complete surprise to Sam, although he tried to hide his shock. He was almost successful, but I spotted the dazed look of incomprehension in his eyes.

"We were in the CIA together, working undercover," Callen continues. He's doing his best to stay composed, but he can't stop looking at Tracey's photo onscreen. It's not hard to see why, because she is gorgeous. Deeks is slightly less subtle:

"She seems way too hot for you." I stand on his foot, very hard – but sadly I've not got stiletto heeled boots on this time, so the damage is probably minimal.

"Do you keep in touch?" Sam is having trouble processing the fact his partner was not only married, but that he obviously has a whole sack load of unresolved issues weighing down upon him. Of course, what is really bothering Sam is that Callen has never so much as mentioned this to him.

Callen shakes his head. "No, she retired five years ago and I haven't heard from her since." There's an awful lot of sadness in his voice. It looks like Tracey is not only the one who got away but who broke his heart.

"Undercover agents never retire – they just go deeper," Hetty says crisply.

"What's her real name?" Sam wants to get back to the main topic, which is finding out all the things his partner has omitted to tell him.

Callen shrugs. "Good question. I never knew."

The silence that followed that admission was deafening. You could practically see the tumbleweed rolling past as we all desperately tried to think of something to say. Now, I thought I'd had a screwed-up relationship with Jack, but this beats it into touch. Callen was married but he never knew her real name? No, that one is too weird even for me to process. He really must have been in love with her. And then it hits us: why has Tracey re-activated an old alias from over five years ago? That's not just risky, it's suicidal.

The fracture between the guys widens a little bit more at this point, because while Callen reckons that this is her way of trying to get back in contact with him, Sam believes Tracey has gone rogue and the hostage situation is for real. I have to say, on the balance of probabilities, I'm going to go with Sam. There's wanting to get back with your ex, and then there is deliberately organising a stand-off situation that has an excellent chance of ending up with you in the morgue. Plus, why on earth would you wait over five years before doing something crazy like this? It just adds more credence to my belief that Callen has never stopped loving his ex-wife. I still can't get used to saying that, or even thinking it. As Deeks might say: Callen? Married? Really?

"What happened between you two?" Sam asks, trying to be casual about it.

"It's a long story."

Okay, so Callen doesn't want to talk about it, not even with Sam. It's kind of a public put-down, and he could have handled it a lot better, which only goes to show what a hold Tracey still has over him. Of course, I know that you can't just switch off your feelings, that you don't just stop loving somebody because they walk out on you. Not that I actually know Tracey walked out on him, I'm just guessing. No, I'm not. I'm personalising this, and I shouldn't. This has got nothing to do with me and Jack. Nothing at all. It's completely different. It's just that I understand, that's all. I know exactly what it is like to be the one who is left – who is left standing wondering what the hell happened and how on earth you are to summon up the courage to survive. They say that you never hear the bullet that kills you. I don't know about that, but I do know that no matter how bad a relationship is, you never imagine that one day the person you love more than anything, almost more than life itself, ill walk out on you, shut the door behind them and never return. Because you always think your love for them will be strong enough to keep them. It won't be. If they want to go, they will go. They will go and they won't even look back. And somehow you will have to pick up the pieces of your life and try to find a reason to keep living. So I do understand. I know exactly how hurt he is and how inadequate it makes him feel.

Despite that Callen has all but spelt out that he doesn't want to talk about his failed marriage, Sam persists. "So give me the short version." And then he plays his trump card: "If it wasn't essential to the mission, I wouldn't ask."

And with that Sam has backed his partner into a corner. It would not only be totally unreasonable for Callen to refuse to say any more, it would be completely unprofessional. And Callen is the consummate professional. We all know that. I just never knew quite how sneaky Sam could be, that's all. He must have been taking lessons from Nate. And that reminds me: where is Nate and why haven't we heard anything from him? He's been gone for weeks now, and we've not even had a text, far less an email. I must remember to ask Hetty about this one day.

"She's the kind of person who chooses the mission over her partner," Callen says shortly and then walks out of Ops. There's another of those awkward silences and eventually Sam leaves too. I've no idea if he is going after Calle to try to talk to him, but I rather doubt it. I thought they'd sorted things out the other day, but it looks like there's another rift developing between them. Suddenly the stable ground I thought this team was founded on is looking terrible shaky, like we're sitting on top of a fault line and just waiting for the earthquake that will send us all tumbling into disaster. Of course, we are sitting on a fault line, a huge great one, called the San Andreas Fault, but I'd really rather not think about that, because it gives me nightmares when I do. Which reminds me: I really do need to put an earthquake survival kit together, just in case.

"That was… intense," Deeks says, shaking his head. He's wearing a baseball shirt in two shades of blue, and it makes his arms look really good. It also matches really well with my own blue shirt. I've suddenly developed a real liking for blue.

"Tell me about it. I thought they were the dream team."

"And we're the also-rans?" He smiles at me. "They didn't write the book, Kensi. There's all sorts of ways to build a partnership, you know. Sam and Callen don't have the monopoly on partnerships. And even if they did, what works for them won't automatically work for us."

"I wasn't talking about us." Only I was, sort of. Because if Sam and Callen can't make it work, what hope is there for me and Deeks/ Those guys love each other and there are times I can barely tolerate Deeks. He just has this ability to make me so mad. I've no idea why. "It's just that they seemed so close, like they shared everything. I mean, there was a while back when Callen practically lived at Sam's. But now it's like they've never even talked about things."

Deeks gives me one of his long-suffering looks. "Kensi: they're two guys. Of course they haven't talked about things. That goes against the job description of being a guy."

"You go through a marriage break up and you don't talk about it? Come on, get real."

"Kensi – you're looking at it from the wrong perspective. Of course you and your girlfriends talk about your relationships. But that's because you're women. And maybe if you'd known Callen back then, he would have come to you and you could have talked about it. But ask two men to talk about their feelings? To each other? Never going to happen. The way I see it, Callen would go to Sam, tell him his marriage was over and Sam would clap him on the back, give him a beer and say that it sucked big time. And then they would have watched a game and drunk a few more beers."

"You're kidding me, right?" Not that I told anybody when Jack left. I'd hidden how crappy things were from everybody and I was ashamed to admit it when he walked out. And besides which, I thought it was my fault. I still do – sort of. But I'm working on that.

"Why would I kid you about something like that? Listen, everybody has secrets. It's no big deal. They'll get over it."

"Partners should share things," I argue. "Important things like that anyway."

That's when Deeks looks very carefully at me. "Okay then, fire away."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Trust is a two-way street, Kensi. You're digging, because you want to know my secrets, but at the same time, you want to keep your own. Well, it doesn't work like that."

Sometimes his sheer bravado takes my breath away. "You're not that interesting, Deeks." Why would I want to know his deepest, darkest secrets? Even if he had any that were actually interesting, which I sincerely doubt.

"Can I help it if you think so?" He does that thing with his eyebrows again and then walks away.

"Mr Deeks does have a point, my dear."

I felt like telling Hetty that if Mr Deeks isn't careful he's going to feel the point of my boot right in his cute little ass if he keeps on hassling me, but I managed to restrain myself. "He needs to learn to share, Hetty."

"And what about you? We all have our secrets, the things that drive us and make us who we are Sometimes these secrets are simply too corrosive to allow them to be exposed to the open air. Mr Callen and Mr Hanna will work things out. They always have."

She sounds so utterly certain and I almost believe her.

"And what about us? Me and Deeks, I mean." How are we supposed to work out our differences if Sam and Callen can't? Discovering they are fallible is almost as bad as the day I discovered Santa was really my Dad. And while I'm prepared to share to an extent, I have my limits. There is no way I am ever letting Deeks know about the demons that drive me.

"What about you? I think that how you manage your working relationship is something that has to be worked out between you and Mr Deeks." It's probably a trick of the light, but it kind of looks like she's winking at me. "Do make sure you have fun when you're doing that."

I have absolutely no idea what Hetty means by that. Sometimes that woman is far too cryptic for her own good. She is right to a degree though: working with Deeks is kind of fun. I've never met a man who can make me smile quite as much as he can, even when I should be mad at him.

* * *

><p><em>Until I started rewatching all the episodes to write this story, I'd never quite twigged that Sam and Callen's partnership was rocked by two major revelations in two successive episodes. Hmm... is our favourite same-sex partnership not quite as joined at the hip as we might have thought?<em>  
><em>For a more in depth look at Sam and Callen, don't miss next weeks <strong>'In The Bullpen'<strong> over at ncislafan blogspot, when Phillydi and I will be discussing whether they have a **bromance or a romance**. And don't forget to check out her two-part blog on NCIS:LA fanfiction, featuring views from a number of writers from fanfiction dot net, including the woman with a mission to maim - none other than me!_


	26. Stand Off: Part II

"Do you reckon they were really married, Deeks?"

"You just can't leave it alone, can you?" He sounds exasperated and I've hardly even mentioned Callen's big secret. His huge, big secret that he just never thought it necessary to mention before, not even to Sam.

Of course I can't leave it alone. And I don't want to either. This is the biggest thing to hit the team since… well, since Deeks joined us, if you really want the truth. Only I'm not going to say that to him, am I? Deeks has got a big enough opinion of himself already without me adding to it. "I'm just interested, that's all." Of course I'm interested. It stands to reason, after all. Just because Deeks isnt interested. Except that I bet he is. He just knows that I'm going to bring it up, and that way he can sound all superior. God, he's sneaky.

Deeks is also quite opinionated, as he proves by his next remark. "There's a fine line between being interested and being nosey."

Is he calling me nosey? "I'm a trained investigator, Deeks. Of course I'm interested." I'm also trained in several forms of combat and I could break your nose before you saw my hand moving, so don't push it, okay? And stop being so sanctimonious.

"I bet you wouldn't be so interested if she wasn't so hot. Me, I just can't see it. Callen and Tracey, that is. And what is it with you girls calling yourself 'Tracey' as a cover?"

Trust Deeks to remember I was Tracey the first time we met. "We're not girls, Deeks. We are women. Grown women." Who can kill you in a dozen different ways without even blinking an eye, so don't you forget it. "Why can't you see it? And don't just say because she's hot. Callen's quite cute – for an older guy. With commitment issues."

"Maybe Tracey's the one who gave him those issues in the first place?"

Actually, that's quite astute of him. "Or maybe he's just like every other man on the planet?"

Deeks winces. "Low blow. Below the belt."

Huh, if I was actually to hit him below the belt you can rest assured that he wouldn't be walking or talking for at least a week. "So - do you reckon they were really married?"

He doesn't hesitate for a second which only goes to prove that he has been thinking about this all along, despite his earlier denials. "Nope. It had to be a cover story. Didn't it?" He gives me a sceptical look. "I mean, why would they get married for real? It would never work."

"How do you know? You've never even met her. And do not say 'because she's hot'," I add, just as he's opening his mouth.

"They were partners, right? So it stands to reason it wasn't going to work. That sort of thing never does."

And that really was a low blow. That one chopped me off at the ankles, if you want to know the truth. "You are such a cynic, Deeks."

"I was a lawyer, remember? I even passed the bar exams."

You know, I still can't get my head around that. You look at Deeks and you think the only bar exam he's passed is the one they have in Cancun on spring break. "So? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Two words: family law. Which sounds all cute and cuddly, only it's not. It's about divorces and child custody. It's about the disintegration of families and you just see these people whose whole lives are falling apart around them, and there isn't a damn thing they can do about it. I've seen the actual, real-life experiences. So I am taking from an informed point of view."

I've never heard him sound so bitter, or quite so sincere. "So what does that have to do with Callen and Tracey?"

"Their marriage was doomed to failure. How can you work all day in a high-pressure job like this, and then go back home with your partner? You're never going to get a break, are you? No down-time, a chance to decompress and pretend you're just a normal person. You're never going to be able to get away from the job. And when you've seen how love can turn to hate, believe me, you don't want to go there." I never knew Deeks could do cynical quite so well.

So that's it for any dreams I might occasionally have indulged in about Deeks and I actually taking this 'thing' we have to the next level. It's like I can hear this lone bell tolling mournfully away in the distance, marking the death knell for any misguided hopes I might once have had. And you know the worst thing? Deeks is probably right. I thought my parents had this great marriage, that they loved each other and that they would be together forever. Which just shows you what I know. It makes me think of this song my Mom used to sing all the time when I was a little girl, _The Water is Wide_. I loved that song and I loved to hear her sing it, because she had a beautiful voice. And when I was a child, I thought it was all about love. I guess she only sang the first couple of verses, deceiving me yet again. It wasn't until after Dad died that I found out that song is all about love going wrong.

_But love grows old and waxes cold  
><em>_And fades away like the morning dew _

I guess that's what happened to my mother. She just woke up one day and stopped loving my Dad and decided to find someone else. And then, just to hurt him as much as possible, she tried to take me away with her. Well, you already know how successful she was there. I don't want to be a cynic like Deeks, I want to wash away my wounds and believe once again that I'm going to find the man I want to share everything with. I want to be able to dream that with him I'll find that perfect a life which will last forever. The thing is, in order to be able to do that, I need to be able to believe that once upon a time, Callen loved and was loved back. After all, Callen deserves to be loved. But most of all, I want to believe that partners can take that relationship to another level, that they can transcend the normal bounds and make that leap of faith and commitment.

_Must I go bound while you go free?  
><em>_Must I love a man who doesn't love me?  
><em>_Must I be born with so little art  
><em>_As to love a man who'll break my heart? _

"What do you reckon she called him?" Deeks asks, jerking me out of my reverie. It takes a couple of seconds to work out that he's still talking about Callen and Tracey.

"Callen. What else would she call him?" Apart from 'G', of course. But somehow I can't imagine gasping that out in a moment of passion. It would sound like you were about to say 'Gee, golly', or 'Gee, shucks', or something equally inane.

"And what about him?"

"Tracey. As in her name. What else would he call her?" Deeks probably just calls all girls 'sweetheart', or 'honey', because that way he's not going to risk making a mistake and get that smart mouth of his smacked. He calls me 'baby girl', but that's different. That's kind of cute and endearing. I'm kidding myself again, aren't I? I am so pathetic sometimes.

"Kensi – it's an alias. Remember? And I'm betting dear Tracey is even more of a mystery than Callen."

That is just plain ridiculous. Nobody is more mysterious than Callen. Except possibly Hetty. And maybe Sam's wife. The wife nobody has ever seen. She's like a combination of both Mrs De Winters: nobody knows what she looks like and nobody knows what she's called. Apart from 'Mrs Hanna', obviously. Unless she's kept her maiden name, of course? The more I think about it, the more I wonder if this mythical wife even exists. Maybe it's all just an elaborate ruse the guys set up to hide the real nature of their partnership? And if so, that means there's just a chance that Sam and Callen are the exception that proves that you can have a romantic relationship with your partner? In which case, there is still hope – if I can persuade them to come out and come clean. I'm grasping at straws, I know I am, but what have I got to lose?

* * *

><p>There is just one thing wrong with my brilliant plan: when we arrive outside the recruiting station, the guys are still treading on eggshells around each other, and matters are not helped when Callen decides that he is going to go in alone, and without a weapon. Sam's not happy, but what can he do? Pick Callen up and bodily restrain him? Not likely – not in public anyway. And I am not going to think about private chastisement behind closed doors. I am going to try very hard not to think about that.<p>

So we lurk unobtrusively while Callen goes in and meets Tracey. And we listen in as Callen and his ex-wife reminisce about old times: about how great they were together, unbeatable in fact. That's a hard pill for Sam to swallow, but he brightens up when Callen suddenly turns on her.

"We were great until you hung me out to dry."

Tracey tries to protest, but he's having none of it. "It was a crappy thing to do to your partner – to me." The hurt and anger has not diminished over the years: it comes across quite clearly in Callen's voice, but I can see a look of relief pass across Sam's face as he realises he still has his partner – and he still has his friend Whatever sort of relationship these guys have, one thing is perfectly clear: they really do love each other. Whatever 'love' is, of course.

It's at this point Tracey realises she has to do something more, because Callen is no longer going to run after her like some adoring puppy. She's got his attention, but now she needs his help, because he is the only person she can trust to help her recover this stolen shipment of spike missiles, which are the smallest guided missiles in the world, so small that they are programmed by a coded SIM card. Okay, that's not good. And it's worse when we discover the missiles are going to be sold to one of the numerous white supremacist Aryan brotherhood gangs that seem to be springing up all over the place these days. And when Callen is rightly suspicious and demands some proof, Tracey reveals that she disturbed a meeting in a nearby warehouse, and just happened to kill one of the conspirators.

"We get to go find a dead body, right?" Deeks looks at Sam with considerable disgust. "And you get to listen in to Mr and Mrs Callen go over old times?"

"I get to watch my partner's back. Make sure you do the same." Yup, Sam is still touchy and he's definitely not a happy bunny. Is there still a touch of the green-eyed monster there, I wonder?

* * *

><p>The warehouse is close by, and as we're going in, Deeks just has to return to the subject of partners.<p>

"Just out of curiosity – what happened to your last partner?"

I stare at him in utter incomprehension. He doesn't know? Nobody told him? "He met an unfortunate end." What a stupid thing to say. Why can't I say "His name was Dominc Vale and he was kidnapped, held prisoner and then he was shot and killed when our rescue operation went wrong." That would be the truth. But I can't say that. So I come out with that stupid phrase, which sounds like it's come straight out of some cheesy horror film that isn't even mildly scarey.

"I'm sorry to hear that." And I think he really is. But something bothers me - since when has Deeks been so formal?

And then I remember his last partner – Jess Traynor – and how she died, when he was in that under-cover operation with LAPD. And I remember seeing that surveillance photo of Deeks coming out of her apartment. It could mean something – or it could mean nothing. Were they involved? Is this why he's so against having a relationship with his partner because he's still mourning Jess and feeling guilty because he wasn't there to protect her? I guess I'm never going to know, because if Callen and Sam can't talk about the really big things, then how are we going to manage where they have failed? I don't want to talk about Dom, and Deeks doesn't want to talk about Jess. So we're at an impasse.

"How many partners have you had?" he asks, as we start to climb the stairs.

Okay, it seems Deeks doesn't understand the ground rules here. That is way too close and personal. "Why?"

"I was just wondering. I mean, are you the Elizabeth Taylor of partners?"

Do you know something? If my partners gave me the one-tenth of the serious jewels that Liz's gave her, then I sure as hell wouldn't be sneaking around a warehouse with my gun drawn, having yetanother pointless conversation with Deeks. "Focus, Deeks." I sometimes wonder if he has ADHD, or if he just says things to annoy me.

"I'm trying. But I've got a right to know if you're partner poison or something."

The nerve of the man. 'Partner poison' indeed. I am a great partner. He's lucky to be working with me. You can ask anyone about that and they'll tell you the same thing. Well, except Dom, obviously. I wasn't such a great partner to him. Poor Dom. You know what I really feel bad about? The fact that we've all virtually forgotten about him. Deeks came in and joined the team and it's like Dom never even existed. We all forgot about him so quickly that nobody even thought to tell Deeks what happened. And that's not right.

"Do they call you 'Kiss of Death Kensi'? Or 'Bad Luck Blye'? Maybe 'The Widowmaker'?"

So not funny. Do you want to see tomorrow, Deeks? With all your vital organs intact? All the time Deeks is babbling away his nonsense, giving a new meaning to 'stream of consciousness', we are moving cautiously through the building. "Dead guy, Deeks."

He mishears me. "That's not funny."

No, but the wounded look on his face is. Kind of. And then he sees what I was talking about – a real dead corpse, lying in a sticky pool of blood. A very well-dressed dead guy, which is immediately suspicious. I check his jacket for ID and, sure enough, Tracey's conspirator turns out to be an FBI agent. I'd pretty much twigged that from the start: after a while, you get to recognise the tailors these guys use. I'm pretty sure Deeks has never been into a tailor's in his life. His idea of dressing up is probably to put on a pair of dark-wash jeans. But it is rather amusing to think of him going to be fitted for a suit and the tailor asking him whish side he dresses to. (Deeks hangs to the left, by the way. Just in case you were wondering, although it's actually kind of obvious).

Of course, if I was to give Deeks a nickname it would be quite simple: 'Drop-Dead Gorgeous Deeks'. It stands to reason, doesn't it?

Anyway, it makes me wonder: if I knew he was a fed, how come Tracey didn't? I mean, according to Callen she's like some super agent or something. I don't trust Tracey. And I don't think Callen should trust her either. Normally he's a great judge of character, but this time is different: this time he's got a whole lot of history to content with and it's screwing up his judgement. No wonder Sam's worried. And it's not just Sam who is worried. I'm worried, and judging by the way Deeks is running his fingers through his hair, he's worried too. Either that or he's decided it isn't looking cool enough. He shouldn't have bothered, because he needn't worry about his hair - it always looks great. which is more than I can say about this case, which is really starting to stink.


	27. Stand Off: Part III

Anyway, while Deeks and I are exchanging pleasantries over in the warehouse, all hell is breaking lose at the recruiting centre, with Sam listening in to all those sweet little nothings Callen and his ex-wife are exchanging with each other. According to Tracey, she's on a mission to avenge the death of her former FBI partner, and this has led her onto an arms dealer, one James Thomas Mason. Do criminals operate the same rules regarding names as SAG or something? Does this man really think he'd better use his middle name just in case anybody confuses an international arms dealer with an internationally famous (and ever so slightly dead) actor? Honestly, sometimes I despair. You used to get a better quality of villain: now most of them are plain dumb, but with a huge sense of their own importance.

It seems that Callen isn't exactly firing on all four cylinders today. Either that or he's not thinking with his brain. Because not only does he believe Tracey, he actually saves her life when someone tries to shoot her. You know, the way things turned out, that was actually a pretty dumb thing to do. But Callen was still fighting his feelings, and he wasn't being any too successful. I'm still not convinced he was trying that hard in the first place. Anyway, the hostages go free and Tracey ends up back at the boathouse, where she finally starts to reveal what the hell is going on. It's a fairly typical tale, of an uncover sting operation involving arms dealing, where the good guys suddenly realise they could set themselves up for life, if they just switch sides, sell the missiles and pocket the cash. It's not just the criminals who've got dumber, you see. However, our boys thought of this neat little twist to the whole affair – they had the SIM cards needed to program the Spike missiles safely hidden away, and without them the missiles are useless. The cards are the key to this whole affair. Without the cards, there is no deal. And according to Tracey, she's the only person who knows where they are. Only she's not talking. And Callen's not even trying to break her.

Deeks and I watch Callen watching her. He's not over her – not by a long way. He's letting her get away with this, letting her put herself in a position of power. I can't quite believe what I'm watching go down.

"They were partners. He thought he could trust her." I'm trying to make some sense of all this. "Maybe she is telling the truth?"

"They were married and she screwed him over, Kensi." Deeks doesn't believe it any more than I do, which is a huge relief. For a moment, I thought I was imagining things

How come you just have to mention the word 'marriage' and men start pulling the wagons into a circle? What is it with them? It's not the act of marriage that makes a relationship go sour – it's the people. If it wasn't real to start off with, then it's never going to work, regardless of whether or not you're married. But if it is real, if you know you've found the one person who makes everything make sense, then marriage can bring you even closer. Can't it? Please don't tell me if I'm wrong on that. Don't trample on all my dreams.

"They were partners before they were married," I remind him.

"Not for long enough. Not nearly long enough."

I can't resist it. "So how long is long enough?"

Deeks thinks for a minute. It doesn't look too painful – he should try this more often. Thinking before speaking, I mean. "Ten years."

"Ten years?" And they say women's logic is hard to follow? Of course, half the time Deeks just says things for the sake of saying them. There's no rhyme or reason – he just likes the sound of his own voice.

"Hence the ten year rule."

He wants me to ask. I know he wants me to ask. "Mmm?" Okay, I couldn't resist. That's the problem with Deeks – or maybe it's my problem with Deeks – I just can't resist him.

"You should always know your partner for at least 10 years prior to marrying them. You date me for a decade: you deserve my hand in marriage." If I'd thought for an instant he was serious I wuold have thumped him. But there was that twinkle in his eyes, that roguish half-smile I've started to look out for.

"That sounds so much more like a punishment than a reward." I know how this game is played: I'm becoming an expert. What disturbs me is how easily Deeks manages to get to me, every single time. It's like he's got a hotline to my heart.

"Whatever turns you on. Pain and pleasure, eh? Don't worry - I'm broadminded. But I'll still need another nine years and six months before I'm yours. I don't want you thinking I'm easy."

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want you, Deeks. I never have and I never will."

He just grins at me. "You keep playing hard to get, Kensi – it's fun. But, like I was saying – I need time to get to know you properly – find out all your bad habits."

It's at times like this that I am sorely tempted to grind my teeth, only I wore braces for years and I don't want to ruin the result I suffered so much for. "I do not have any bad habits."

"Sure you do. Everyone does. Even me. And I'm going to have fun finding all yours out."

The cheek of the man. Who does he think he is? "Name me one bad habit I have? Just one."

"Just one? Easy – you eat junk food and then you lie about it. Plus, you stuff the wrappers down the back of the car seat. It rustles when you sit down."

I hate him. "That's not a bad habit."

"It is too and you know it." How can he sound so smug?

"You sound about six."

"So do you. Want to pull my hair?"

Actually, I do. I would love to pull his hair so hard it made his eyes water. I would just adore to reach out and take hold of a huge handful of Deeks' stupid, thick, bouncy blond hair and pull him over to me and kiss him so that he'll never forget it – even once his hair's grown back in. And then I could braid myself a bracelet of fair hair, like we used to do back in junior high, and brandish it in his face every time I walk past. "No way. Because you'd enjoy it too much."

"See – you know me so well. And yet you still love me." He's smirking at me. How can he stand there and smirk at me like that when he's made me so mad?

"Oh, who could resist you, Deeks? You're adorable. What woman in her right mind could possibly pass up the opportunity to be another notch on your bedpost, Mr 'meaningless encounter' personified? Hey – how about a mad woman with a passion for Twinkies, who then hides the wrappers?"

That confuses him. That totally takes the wind out of his sails.

"I didn't mean it like that, Kensi."

And he's got the nerve to look hurt. Excuse me? I'm the one who got hurt here. Let's get this straight: he hurt me. So I've got a thing for junk food and I'm kind of embarrassed about it? At least I'm not throwing the wrappers out onto the sidewalk. There's a whole lot worse I could do that to stuff my face with crap when I get stressed. Icould go out and shoot a whole load of people. Oh – wait a minute – I already do that, don't I? That's me doomed then. Come Judgement Day, who's going to care about the death toll after my name when they find out about my Twinkie habit? That's the thing that's going to condemn me to the flames of everlasting hell, isn't it? Who cares about dispensing death when you eat junk food in secret?

"Yes, you did. You totally did. And you know what – it doesn't matter. I don't actually care what you think about me."

"That you're incredible," he says quietly. "That you are smart and funny and so damned brave it sometimes takes my breath away. That you can kick ass and still look hot at the same time. That you're probably the best partner I've ever had."

I take his breath away? "Make that the best partner you will ever have, in the whole of your sorry life, Deeks." I'm not going to let him see that he's got to me. I'm not letting him get close enough to hurt me again. But boy, he's got a silver tongue.

"Granted." He tilts his head to one side. "You still mad at me?"

"Yes. But I'll get over it."

It's only much later that I realise my quip about those notches on his bedpost were kind of mean too. I was hurt and I was lashing out without thinking – but I still shouldn't have said that. Even if it is true. Probably. Because what are the chances that Deeks goes home alone to an empty bed and lies there thinking chaste thoughts? About zero. Whereas I'm going through a bit of a fallow period at the moment. Who am I kidding? I haven't been out on a date for months. It's worse than that: I haven't even seen a man for months and thought 'nice'. Except for Deeks, of course. What's wrong with me? All I have to do is look at Callen and how messed up he is over Tracey – how messed up he still is, even after all these years – to know that you can cross that line of partnership to become lovers. It's just never going to work.

How can you mourn something that never was? It was only an occasional dream, fleeing and insubstantial. It never was. There never was a 'Deeks and Kensi' and there never will be – except in a professional sense. But just once in a while, I let myself pretend there might have been. Only now that's gone to, crushed into ashes and floating away on the wind.

* * *

><p>Enter John White, the FBI agent leading the enquiry into the stolen spike missiles. Yes, I know what you're thinking – that has to be an alias, right? Only I don't think it is. He certainly doesn't strike me as a man with a sense of humour or as <em>Reservoir Dogs<em> fan either. What he is, is a man on a mission – to get those missing SIM cards back. He's also a man who is playing a dangerous game, because Eric's managed to link him to the attempted shooting of Tracey and the rather more successful assassination of a SWAT sniper. Bad, bad Mr White. Okay, so listen up here because this is how it's going to go down (according to Callen): we use the SIM cards to get White, White get us to Mason, and once we've got Mason, we've got the missiles. Simple. What could possibly go wrong? You don't really want me to answer that, do you? The fact that we have to rely on Tracey is the part that's worrying me most.

Part one of the Master Plan takes place on the beach, where Tracey is meeting White. And that involves Deeks and I posing as a couple, just hanging out and enjoying the day together. Talk about contrived and unrealistic. Who would ever buy Deeks and I as a couple? Especially when he's wearing a pair of board shorts that are so garish they make my eyes water just looking at him. My mouth is sort of watering too. It was a sad day when Speedos went out of fashion, it really was. Maybe I should start a campaign to bring them back? Women around the world would flock to my cause, I'm sure.

"It's getting pretty sunny out here," he says, pretending to be so casual. "You want me to…?"

"Do not put any sunscreen on me."

Because I can't guarantee that I'll be able to control myself if I feel your hands on my body, Deeks. Like I said, it's been a while since I had a man in my life. Except Deeks, of course. And he doesn't count – because he's my partner. My work partner and nothing more. I'm not going to let myself think about him in any other way, not now that I know it's futile. He does look good in those shorts though. I find myself staring at that smooth, golden chest, and those shoulders. He's practically edible, that's what he is. And while I'm trying not to drool too much, Tracey strolls along the beach, just waiting for White to turn up. That was the condition she made: we'd get the SIM cards, after she'd met White, and hopefully got him to incriminate himself, whereupon we take him into custody, and charge him with the death of her ex-partner – among other things.

Tracey's put her hair up in a ponytail, and in her tight blue shorts and see-through shirt she looks so like Shannen Doherty it's scarey. That fact alone should have warned me not to trust her. Of course, she's wired up to a mike, but the first thing White does when he arrives is to make her go into the sea.

"There goes the mike," Sam says softly. And then he swears.

"Yeah, but her hotness meter went up by a bajillion points." That was Deeks, of course – but you'd guessed that already, hadn't you?

Now, a lesser woman than me might have taken offense at that statement. Especially if that woman was sitting there, right beside Deeks in a low cut bikini and looking sizzling, even if I do say so myself.

"Shut up – I'm trying to concentrate."

I'm also trying to lip-read, watching through binoculars as White confesses his part in the crack-brained plan to sell the missiles to Mason. It turns out that it was his last confession, because Tracey shoots him. Shoots him dead. Which is convenient for her. Now there's nobody alive to tell us if she's telling the truth, or if she's up to her immaculately-plucked eyebrows in all of this. Maybe the gang of three was really a gang of four? Now there's nobody left – except Tracey. Not that we've got much time to think about all that, because Tracey retrieves White's phone and shows us that he's got a meeting at the San Pedro Container Yard in an hour. Isn't that convenient?

* * *

><p>"I don't trust her." We're back at the boathouse again, going over the final plans for the meeting. Callen and Tracey are going to the meet with Mason, while the rest of us provide back-up.<p>

"Oh, she's sneaky." Deeks' eyes are glued to Tracey, to the bare back she has invitingly presented to Callen and asked him to help with the zipper.

"She's big enough to get dressed by herself." She is so obvious. But it is kind of alluring, the way she's holding her hair up out of the way and peeking over her shoulder at him.

"Callen's not complaining."

"That's because Callen's not thinking straight. Callen's not thinking with his head right now."

"I can see where he's at. Almost." Deeks shakes his head, as if he's trying to clear it and think straight. Come on. Tracey's not that hot. And she's kind of obvious. "He's going to get burnt, isn't he?"

"Oh yes. And there's not a damn thing we can do about it."

Callen is like a man tied to a stake, with a pile of wood just about to burst into flames at his feet. He just has to look at Tracey and he's powerless to resist, like she's got him under a spell, or something. They're talking now, talking quietly in low voices, with their heads together, and they look like a couple. They look good together, like they belong. And, God help me, I feel jealous. Just for one second, I actually feel jealous. Of Callen and the two-timing bitch who broke his heart. What's wrong with me? I know what's wrong – it's been too long since I had sex. I need to go out, find some unsuspecting man and have wild, meaningless sex. And I need to stop thinking about Deeks.

"Maybe we can't. But I know a man who can." He nods towards Sam.

"Is he going to be alright?" I ask, and Sam looks at me with eyes that reveal all his concerns, even as he denies them.

"Don't worry about G – he's cool. You worry about Deeks." It's like Sam's on auto-pilot, making a crack about Deeks just for the sake of it, trying to convince us (and maybe even himself) that everything is just fine, when it's clear that it is not.

"I'm cool," Deeks says automatically. He doesn't believe Sam any more than I do.

I wait until Sam goes away. "That was convincing. Not."

"About as convincing as listening to a cat with a mouthful of feathers telling you it hasn't seen your canary. They're still not talking, are they?"

"Not really." I'm beginning to wonder if Sam and Callen will ever resolve this. "Should I worry about you, Deeks?"

Deeks looks at me curiously. "I don't know, Kensi – should you?"

I bite back the temptation to say a hundred things. "Not as long as you have my back today."

"Always."

How come one word can mean so much? How come I can stand here and look at Deeks when he says that, and see the way he looks back at me – and still not say anything? Maybe because I'm acutely aware of another pair of partners who thought they could take that next step – but then found it ruined everything. And yet another pair of partners who found that trust can evaporate in a second and disappear like mist on a summer's morning.

"They're not us, Kensi." His voice breaks into my thoughts. "Nobody has ever been like us. Nobody even comes close."

I've no idea what he means by that, absolutely no idea at all – but it comforts me. No, it's more than that – it makes me feel warm inside. So Deeks thinks there is an 'us'. Good. That's a start, isn't it?

"It doesn't have to be that way?" As I watch, Callen breaks away and just stares at Tracey. There is a world of yearning and sorrow in his eyes.

"No. It can be whatever we want it to be." Deeks shrugged. "There's no guarantees and no rules. It's up to us."

And that's enough to be going on with, I guess. Besides which, it's time to get going. It's almost time for this meet to take place. How have things got to this: with Callen looking at his old partner as if she holds all the answers, while his current partner looks as if the sky has just turned black, and meanwhile Deeks and I say a whole lot of stuff that means everything, and nothing? Life's a hell of a lot simpler when you just go out and shoot the bad guys and there is no emotional investment.

* * *

><p><em>There's still a lot of healing to be done for the team...<em>


	28. Stand Off: Part IV and Epilogue

As we get ready to go out to the meeting with Mason, I can't help overhearing Callen and Tracey. I try desperately not to hear, but it's no good, and my stomach turns over and then clenches up as they talk.

"I never stopped caring," Tracey says earnestly. "But you never let me explain."

Callen gives a hollow laugh. I never knew what that sounded like until now: it sounds like Tracey has ripped his heart out and he is completely empty inside. "You made it pretty clear where your head and your heart were at." Does she have any idea about how she nearly destroyed him? Can't she see the damage she's wrought?

"I was young and ambitious. I made a mistake. One I regret."

Did she realise that then, I wonder, or is it only in hindsight that she's reached this conclusion? Whatever. I still can't believe she is trying to get back with Callen – after all this time and after all she's done. Tracey has some gall, that's for sure.

"It doesn't matter," Callen says flatly, as if the world no longer holds any interest for him.

And he's right – it doesn't. You see, as things turn out, we discover that Tracey was still just as twisted and self-centred as she had always been. She'd only been in it for the money all along, and she very nearly got away with it – and Sam nearly got blown into little smithereens when Mason tried out one of the spike missiles, hitting a shipping container that he was on top of. Only by the time we worked out that Tracey was as crooked as Mason, it was too late, because Callen had let her walk away.

But apart from the small matter of Sam's near-death experience, for a moment it looked as if everything was going perfectly, and that we wre going to catch Mason red-handed, and retrieve the missiles at the same time. And get out alive. So, after the initial pleasantries, Callen handed across the one SIM card that was actually programmed to fire a missile, Mason did the test firing that nearly sent Sam to kingdom come and then the electronic money transfer took place – five million dollars in less than thirty seconds. Straight to an untraceable offshore account.

Did Mason know it was a set-up? I'm still unsure about that. Maybe there was just something about Callen and Tracey that aroused his suspicions, even if he did say that he thought they were a cute couple. Anyway, for some reason, he decided to fire another missile – only of course all the other SIM cards were blank, so the missile was going nowhere. That was when all hell broke loose, and there was a major gun battle. One that ended up with Mason and his men either dead or feeling very sorry for themselves, and the missiles back in our hands. Even if it had cost us a cool $5 million.

"What happens now," Tracey asked Callen.

"We recover the money."

"From an offshore account? Good luck with that." Her face changed subtly, so that her eyes were no longer limpid and yearning. "You have to let me walk away." It didn't sound like a request, it sounded like a command.

"No," Callen said simply, but without any real commitment. You could almost hear the collective thud as Sam, Deeks and my jaws all hit the ground. We knew what was going to happen. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

"You've got the missiles, and I've got closure. It's not a bad settlement." So how come Tracey just looked plain excited? If she was really in this to revenge the death of her partner, I'd have expected her to at least express a few regrets. Mind you, if I'd just got $5 million winging its way across the ether, I'd be jumping up and down with joy – if I didn't have any morals, of course.

As I watched, Tracey gave Callen a sad smile. "I let you walk out of my life once – so you owe me." And then they kiss.

That was it. There was never going to be any other outcome: we all knew that. Tracey had known that from the outset: she had played Callen along every single step of the way, knowing that he would never turn her in, no matter what. And the tragedy was that she was entirely correct. There was no sense in any of us saying anything, or even trying to stop Tracey as she turned around and left Callen alone. It was always going to be like this: they both accepted that. So that's why we followed Callen's example, and we simply stood and watched Tracey walk out of his life all over again, like history repeating itself in an endless cycle of pain.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday 8<strong>**th**** November, 2010  
>Stand Off: Epilogue<strong>

"Do you reckon Callen knew?" Deeks asks. It's mid-afternoon and we've been writing case reports all day, filling out expenses and time sheets – all the boring, mundane things that get pushed to one side when things get crazy around here, which they often do. And when I say "we", I mean Deeks and I. Just the two of us, because Sam and Callen are in sunnier climes playing the ever-intriguing game of 'hunt the lady', which was pretty much how this whole case started, now I think about it. Only now the lady in question is Tracey.

"What – that she was playing him all along?" That's what I've been wondering, on and off since Tracey disappeared and the guys went off after her.

"Yup." Deeks leans back in his chair and stares across at me. "He had to have known – didn't he?"

"Maybe Callen hoped she'd changed?"

"The triumph of hope over reason?" I've never heard Deeks sound quite so cynical and bitter before. "Come on – they were partners. They were more than partners. He had to have known he couldn't trust her."

And that's it in a nutshell, isn't it? The dilemma I keep trying to put out of my mind. If this was a reality show, it would be called _'When Partnerships Go Bad.' _It's like a warning to me not to get involved.

"Either way, he had to let it play out." Does that sound as feeble as I think it does?

"Did he?" Deeks shakes his head in disbelief. "Come on, Kensi – the guy virtually lay down and let her walk all over him. And then he let her walk away."

"Yes – but they know where she is. They're just waiting for the money to clear, before they move in." Eric has been tracking Tracey's travels courtesy of her cell-phone. It seems she's not quite up to speed with modern technology, which is one of the perils of trying to get back into this game after a long absence. The ignominy of being tracked by GPS, simply because you couldn't be bothered to spend a few hundred dollars and get a new cell-phone.

"Yeah – in the Grand Cayman Islands. A hard slog – but someone's got to do it, right? And you and I get left with the paper work. Fantastic. Some guys have all the luck. " He gets up so abruptly that his chair skids backwards. "Well, I reckon that I've had enough for today."

"We're not finished," I point out.

"Actually, I am. I don't like putting my ass on the line and not knowing it's all some big set-up." This has clearly been rankling with him for some time.

"If it's any consolation, I didn't know either." I'm pretty sure Sam didn't know either, and I'm almost certain Callen was completely in the dark. The whole operation had the unmistakeable fingerprints of one Henrietta Lang all over it.

"Actually, it's not."

I've never seen Deeks like this before, and it's oddly unsettling. "Where are you going?"

"Out," he says shortly and then does exactly that, leaving me all alone. Great. How to make a girl feel loved. Why couldn't Hetty have sent Deeks and I to the Caymans?

"Mr Callen needed some time and space in which to reflect upon things. And he and Mr Hanna have some things to discuss."

Great, not only can Hetty materialise seemingly at will, now it looks like she can also read my mind too.

"Maybe Deeks and I need to talk about things to," I counter, trying very hard not to whinge.

"Perhaps you do," she agrees, and then sits down beside me. "So why don't you?"

Oh God, I feel like I'm back at school and in the principal's office. "It's not that easy."

"Sometimes you have to make the effort, go that extra mile."

"Why don't you just tell me to walk a mile in another man's moccasins and be done with it?" That's inexcusably rude, and I know it – but I don't particularly care.

"You're angry at me, aren't you?" Hetty sounds particularly fascinated by this discovery.

"We had a right to know."

She just sits and looks at me for a long time. "Perhaps you are right. But it was a judgement call. I suspected Tracey was in this for her own gain right from the start. Everything was just a little too calculated to ensure Mr Callen would become involved. And that made me suspicious. Rightly or wrongly, I decided that Mr Callen was still too close to his past to be objective. And I could hardly tell the rest of the team and yet keep it from him, could I?"

"Couldn't you?"

"I thought not. Mr Hanna was already concerned about his partner and I didn't want to put any more stress on their relationship."

"What about Deeks and I?"

"What about you?" Hetty holds my gaze steadily.

"Our relationship - I mean our partnership." Because we don't have a relationship, do we? Sure, we shared a bed, but nothing happened. And we went out dancing – as strangers. But that's it.

"I know what you mean." Once again I have the feeling that Hetty can see right into my soul, and it's uncomfortable.

"It's just that – seeing Sam and Callen like that – and they've been together forever. It's unsettling."

"You and Mr Deeks are a very different partnership."

"Tell me about it."

"You have to find your own way of working together."

"But that's just it – we work fine together. When we were at San Pedro, it was like we were communicating without words – like each one of us knew what the other one was thinking. Work isn't a problem. It's the rest."

"You want to be like your male counterparts – best friends?"

Well, not exactly. Not unless the rumours about the bromance are true. "Something like that." The only thing is, I'm not sure Callen and Sam are friends any more. They've come awfully close to crossing a line in our last couple of missions – there have been too many secrets revealed that could just tear them apart. And of course, I have my secrets too. Secrets that not even Hetty knows about.

"Give it time, Miss Blye," she counsels, with the air of someone who has done this many times before. Perhaps she has? " Give yourself time, and give Mr Deeks time too. It's still early days. A partnership is like a fine wine – first of all you carefully select exactly the right raw ingredients, next you mix them together and then you wait. Sometimes you have to wait for a long time for the magic to happen. It doesn't just happen overnight. You need to have a little patience." Hetty stands up and looks at her watch. "And you need to go home. Call it a day and draw a line underneath all of this."

She thinks we have the right stuff, Deeks and I. Hetty thinks that we can make magic together. For some reason that give me the courage to sit up a little straighter. There's one thing still worrying me though. "Will they get it back?" I call out as she walks away. "Sam and Callen, I mean. Will they get their friendship back?"

"I don't know. I hope they will, but I'm not sure." I can't remember ever hearing Hetty sounding so sad before.

I know I should go home, but I can't make myself, even though my eyes are half shut with exhaustion, so I go and curl up on the couch, and let my mind drift back to when things were a lot simpler, and Callen and Sam were the dream team, the men who shared everything, who had seen everything and done everything and had the stories to prove it. Only that was just an illusion, the mirror has been broken now and nothing else is ever going to be the same again. I'm lying there, mulling over all the events of the past couple of weeks and I'm almost asleep when the sound of familiar footsteps jerks me back to reality. I know who it is without even opening my eyes.

"What are you doing back here?" I ask and then look up to see that Deeks is standing in front of the couch, with a sheepish expression on his face, and his hands clasped behind his back.

"I came to apologise. For being a jerk."

"Which part of being a jerk specifically?"

"All of it?" His hair is damp, and I've got a suspicion he's sneaked in a few rides on his surfboard. That's his way of de-stressing, I suppose. Whatever works. You take your comforts where you can find them in this job.

"Good. What are you hiding back there?" Because he's definitely got something behind his back.

"Uh – would you believe ice cream?" Sure enough, two ice creams cones appear, one in each hand. "As a peace-offering?"

Why does this guy have to hit all my weak spots? "Just because I'm eating your ice cream doesn't mean I forgive you." I say, stretching out my own hand. I mean, it would be a shame to let an innocent ice cream go to waste.

"I know." Deeks gestures towards the couch. "Budge up a bit, will you?"

The next thing I know, we're sitting there, side by side and licking our ice creams, like two little kids or something. "You won't always be able to get around me like this." It's important to set things straight, to make sure he is under no illusions.

"I'm hoping I won't have to." He sounds completely sincere and I want to believe him. I want to believe him more than anything, even if I'm not quite sure why. "Listen, I want to make this work. You and me, I mean."

"You and me?"

"Uh huh. Now, I'm more used to going things alone, doing things my way. So I've got some adjustments to make. I know that. And I know I'm not the easiest person to work with."

Fair enough. And seeing we're in the mood for confessions... "Me neither. But I thought they had all the answers – Sam and Callen, I mean. I thought all we had to do was be like them." Only it all fell apart right in front of my eyes. And if that could happen to them – what chance is there for us? I want to tell Deeks that I'm scared of losing him, only I'm too scared to tell him that either. What a mess. What a total, complete and utter shambles my life is. At least the ice cream is good though.

"They're not us." Deeks pulls his legs up, so that he's sitting Indian style. "They didn't write the book, Kensi. And we don't have to copy them – but I would like to be like them. I mean – we're more than just two people who work together, aren't we?"

No. I can't do this. Not now. Not after all that's happened. I thought I could, I thought Deeks and I could do anything – but I can't risk losing him. I don't want us to become like Tracey and Callen, where one person uses and the other person suffers. "Are we? I wouldn't count on that."

"What?" He looks at me in astonishment, like he really thought he'd got it made. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're not going to be around for much longer, are you? Not now you're paired up with 'Kiss of Death Kensi'?" It's the one way I can think of getting out of this situation without doing something I'm going to spend the rest of my life regretting – like kissing him. And, besides which I've been waiting to get my own back on him for days now.

"How about we test that out? You could kiss me and then we could wait and see what happens?"

For a moment I think that Hetty has been giving Deeks lessons in mind reading, until I realise that he's merely doing a play on words. Get thee behind me, Satan. How much temptation can one woman take after all? "Over my dead body, Deeks. No – make that over your dead body."

"You're just saying that to be nice, aren't you?" Things have slipped back into our old, familiar and frustrating routine of meaningless flirtation. Except it does mean something to me.

"Totally. Because I can't resist you." If I say it lightly, almost flippantly, he'll never guess. Deeks will never know how true that is. And then that little devil sneaks up on me and for some reason, I take my ice cream and dab it onto his nose. "Likenow I can barely restrain myself from licking you." And it's true. I don't know why I did that, but Deeks is looking at me and I'm looking right back at Deeks and suddenly all my inhibitions seem to just float away.

"I can't believe you just did that," he says slowly and this smile begins to creep across his face.

Nothing else seems to matter anymore, nothing except the fact that we are sitting here on the sofa, just inches apart and it would be so easy to kiss him.

"I must be mad," I agree. It's like he's casting this spell over me, drawing me in deeper and deeper and there's nothing I can do to resist the lure.

"Completely crazy."

It's going to happen. I know that with complete certainty. There's a slow smile easing across his face and I'm pretty sure I am mirroring it. Our heads are just starting to move together, as if we are both finally accepting the inevitable and our mouths are almost touching when there's an ear-piercing whistle from the balcony and we jerk apart with what can only be regarded as a guilty start. In the process, Deeks' ice cream falls down onto the flagstones with a subdued noise that sounds like all my dreams bursting.

"Good news!" Hetty calls down jubilantly. Her timing has never been worse. Or, depending on your point of view, better. "Tracey has been apprehended and the money recovered."

We both know that the moment is irretrievably gone and nothing will ever bring it back.

"Whoopee," Deeks says, with something less than enthusiasm, and then he raises his hand and wipes away the smudge of ice cream.

"Your team mates will be returning tomorrow," she continues.

"Let joy be unconfined."

It's over. Our chance has melted away just like Deeks' ice cream, which is now just a melted puddle on the floor.

Hetty peers down at us. "Haven't you both got homes to go to? And why are you holding an ice cream, Miss Blye?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Deeks says with a wry look at me. "I'll be going then. See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be waiting."

I will wait for him. I am a very patient person. I am also very determined and I do not give up easily. You'd better believe me on that. Sometimes you have to be in this for the long game, and totally committed, even if that takes half your life and just about every free weekend. Okay, so that's a completely different situation, and one I don't want to talk about, but you know what I mean. If it takes forever, I will wait for another moment with Deeks and the next time that happens (because it will happen, I know that) I will make sure we are not interrupted, even if I have to personally bind and gag Hetty to make sure of it. It doesn't matter how long it takes, because I will wait. The next time I will be ready and I will grab the chance with both hands. I'll grab Deeks too and hold onto him and never let go. Our day will come, I know that.

And until then there is always the sweet solace of ice cream and junk food. A girl has to have some consolation to make up for the frustration after all, even it does mean hours of penance working all those empty calories off in the gym. No wonder I'm so fit. I might just stop of at the convenience store on my way home and stock up – just in case. I don't know how long it's going to be before I get another opportunity like that one. The one that got away. The kiss that almost was… Still, I suppose an almost-kiss is better than a kiss of betrayal, like the one Tracey gave Callen. And at least I've got hope for the future, which is more than he does.

* * *

><p><em>So near - and yet so far...<em>


	29. Anonymous: Part I

**Friday, 14****th**** November 2010  
>Anonymous<strong>

Well, the guys are finally back, and of course they have to make this big show about what a great time they'd had out in the Grand Cayman Islands. It's like they are trying to persuade me that the last two cases didn't nearly pull their partnership wide open. Maybe they have made it up and settled all their differences. I hope so – but I'm not so sure.

"Are you jealous?" Callen asks me.

I just look at him. "Why would I be? I'd just be the third wheel to the bromance." He blinked and looked surprised.

"You are jealous, aren't you? Because we got to go out to the Caymans and you had to stay here. With Deeks."

He really knows how to rub it in. I want to say that yes. I stayed here with Deeks. And you know what? We nearly kissed. We were that close to actually kissing, when you had to go and call Hetty with the good news that you'd finally got your cheating ex-wife. And it would have been a great kiss, I know that.

Only I don't say any of that. Of course I don't. Deeks and I haven't spoken about it since, so I'm hardly about to spill my heart to Callen, am I? "Why on earth do you think that? Just tell me that you got things sorted out with Sam and that you finally got your head sorted out about Tracey, will you? That's all I careabout. Because the whole team could have suffered from the fallout there." I'm this close to telling him that he just about dropped the ball with that last operation. At the very best it was a bad fumble.

"You were never in any real danger."

Really? How would he know? "How about you go watch the surveillance tapes from San Pedro, Callen? Maybe after you see Sam nearly getting blown up into a million tiny pieces, you might feel differently about it all."

He just looks at me. "It sounds like you need to work off some of that aggression. Anger can be toxic if you let it build up inside you."

There are times when I would quite like to smack Callen. So quite why I then find myself squaring off against Sam in the gym is anyone's guess. I've no idea where Deeks is, which is kind of disappointing, seeing as how I'm wearing skin tight leggings and a sports bra. It's very important to wear clothing that allows you to move freely when exercising, after all. And if that clothing incidentally happens to showcase your assets, then so much the better.

Callen stands on the sidelines and offers me some handy hints. Does he realise how patronising he can be at times? The minute I've taken Sam down, it's going to be his turn next. And then once I'm nicely warmed up, I'll get started on Deeks. And once I've started, I might take quite some time to finish. I am just indulging in this very pleasant fantasy of me pinning Deeks onto the ground and staring into his eyes when it strikes me that the man in question is still noticeable by his absence. Where is Deeks? He should be here to see this. In desperation, I suggest to Sam that we up the odds a little, and use knives. That way I can imagine I'm giving Deeks the shock of his life. Still, this is the next best thing, I suppose.

"What are you kids doing in here?"

I'd know that familiar drawl anywhere. Great timing Deeks. You have to turn up when I'm pinned to the mat, even if I do have my knife pressed against Sam's neck. The honours are pretty much even, given that he's got the blade of his resting against my jugular vein.

"Training," Callen informs him, with just the right amount of condescension in his voice. You are officially forgiven, G.

"What for? Pirate fest?"

That's some sort of comment on my outfit, isn't it? The man has no taste. If only Sam and I hadn't been going at it for the last thirty minutes… I know that I am hot and sweaty and with my luck right now, it's a fair bet that my eyeliner's run, so I'm doing a pretty decent impersonation of a panda. Deeks has the worst timing in the universe, bar none. With the exception of Hetty, of course.

"Having fun?" he calls across to me.

Fun? I'll show him fun.

"Kensi's got the lead on Sam," Callen informs him. "Ten to three."

I'll never doubt Callen again. I will never utter one single word of criticism about him for as long as I love. The man is quite simply perfection and he always knows exactly the right thing to say.

"Really?" Why does Deeks have to look quite so amazed? "Did he go easy on her?"

Sam extends a hand and pulls me onto my feet before he answers. "No." Short, sweet and to the point: that's Sam Hanna for you. You've got to love the guy. Even if he does pull his punches when he's sparring with me. He knows that and I know that. But just wait till he and Deeks ever square off against one another. Sam will smack Deeks into the middle of next week. And then, if he is very lucky, I might just kiss Deeks better. Very slowly indeed. And with great deliberation. If a thing is worth doing, then it is worth doing well.

"Really?" Deeks asks incredulously, and I change my mind instantly. I'll just leave him lying there, bleeding and in pain. Exactly who does he think he is, talking about me like that? And why does he have to keep saying 'really' all the time? It's getting to be really annoying. And know he's got me saying it too. Great. Next thing you know, I'll stop brushing my hair too.

Sam just gives Deeks a disparaging look. "Me – go easy on Kensi? When she's got a knife?"

I love Sam. I love him so much I could kiss him. Actually, even though he's officially annoying, I could kiss Deeks too. Only I don't, having rather more self-restraint than most people would ever give me credit for. So I just settle for zapping him with a taser instead. That is actually gratifying, watching Deeks just about leap his own height in the air. I must remember that. I guess training Deeks is a bit like training a pit bull – sometimes the only thing for it is to use aversion therapy. And the fact that I left my finger firmly pressed down on the button meant he got rather more than the maximum recommended voltage. Hey – what do you know/ it doesn't send you into instant cardiac arrest. I must let Hetty know – I'm sure she'll be fascinated.

"Why did you do that?" he asks, and gives me a reproachful look.

Simple – because I could. "Oh, it just seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Not from where I'm standing." He rubs his arm ruefully. "You're mad aren't you?"

The nerve of the man. Why would I be mad, just because he was implying that I fight like a girl? Just because I actually am a girl doesn't mean that I fight like one. "Why would I be mad at you, Deeks?" Apart from the million and one obvious reasons, of course.

"Because if I hadn't been late, that could have been you and me getting down and dirty on the mats." He actually has the nerve to raise his eyebrows suggestively when he says that. Sometimes I think he can read my mind. And sometimes I wish he could read my mind, because then he'd realise that I'd like nothing better.

"In your dreams, Deeks."

"Come on, you know you want to." He looks around. "And there's no-one here to see us. Just think, you could have your wicked way with me and nobody is going to be any the wiser."

Okay, I've had it. I have officially reached the end of my tether. "You want to fight me, Deeks? You really want to fight me? Okay, bring it on." This is possibly the worst mistake of his sorry life, because I am in no mood to be messed around with today. Or any day, come to that. I'm fed up with Deeks and I dancing back and forward, saying all these things and yet saying nothing at all. I just want to get things straight between us, once and for all.

Deeks just stands there, his arms hanging loose at his sides. "No. I don't want to fight you, Kensi. I've never wanted to fight you. Maybe one day you'll realise that and stop fighting me."

He sounds kind of sad and I can feel some of the tension leave my body, to be replaced by this sense of shame. Which is stupid. I've not done anything to be ashamed of, have I? I feel I should say something, that he is standing there waiting for me to say something, but I can't think of a single word.

Deeks waits for a couple of minutes and then he turns to go and I listen to the sound of his footsteps as they echo across the gym. Each one sounds like it is hitting on whatever passes for my heart.

"By the way – I came down to tell you that there's been an incident at a federal building downtown. One ex-Marine was shot dead and there's a possible terrorist connection. Hetty wants you up in Ops as soon as you've showered."

Normally, this is the point where Deeks would make some smart remark about joining me in the shower, and helping me scrub my back, only he doesn't. He just keeps right on walking out of the doors, which swing shut behind him. Great. So far this morning I've pissed off Callen and Deeks. If I can just manage to rile Sam then I'll have the full set. Maybe I should just save everybody a whole lot of hassle and just drown myself in the showers instead?

* * *

><p>I don't, of course. I get washed and changed in near-record time and go upstairs to Ops, to listen to the briefing. A dead Marine is nice return to normality after the last couple of cases we've had. I know Michael Barnes is technically an ex-Marine, but you never leave the Corps – not really. He was only 43, but the photograph on his ID makes him look a lot older. I guess that's what a couple of tours in Iraq will do to you. Barnes was working at a low security level desk job at the State Department, so there was no reason for someone to gun him down in the street outside in broad daylight, was there? Not unless they had an ulterior motive. Such as the fact he was handed a dossier of photographs of people who were undergoing plastic surgery, right here in LA. So that's the latest way for a terrorist to stay under the radar – he just goes and buys himself a new face? This sounds like it could be tricky. For starters, we've no idea who we are looking for, or what they actually look like right now. Excellent. If today started badly, it's getting worse with each passing hour.<p>

Nell brings up video surveillance footage, showing us the very last moments of Barnes' life. It turns out he was meeting a woman, who handed him the dossier.

"Gillian Leigh," Nell announces, bring up her driver's license. "She's a nurse and she works for a cosmetic surgeon."

"Do you reckon she gets a staff discount?" Deeks asks flippantly.

"Looks like it." Callen goes up close to the screen and lets out a low whistle when he clocks her real age and how good she looks. I don't blame him. Whoever her surgeon is, he is good – really good.

"You couldn't be more wrong," Nell says smugly. "She didn't pay a penny. Leigh is her maiden name, which she kept after she married her boss – Dr Russell."

That's the way to do it. Not that I need any surgery, of course. But there is nothing wrong with having an insurance policy, just in case – is there?

* * *

><p>So, Callen and Sam go over to Dr Russell's office, while Deeks and I check out their home. Which turns out to be a huge house, that's got a Moorish vibe about it. Clearly I'm not the only one who thinks the good doctor is at the top of his game. AS Deeks says, he's done a lot of tummy tucks to pay for all this. Either that, or he's available to any terrorist who wants a new identity aand can charge whatever he wants.<p>

Of course, the house has an elaborate alarm system. No surprise there then. And of course the alarm system is on. It stands to reason, with a place like this – you don't leave anything to chance. I wouldn't have been entirely surprised if they had a pack of rabid German Shepherds patrolling the grounds into the bargain.

"I'll call Eric," Deeks announces. "Get him to take the alarms down remotely."

"No need." Excuse me? Has he forgotten who he's working with? "I think I've got it." I want to say 'watch and learn', but I resist the temptation. I can't help noticing how closely Deeks is watching.

"Have you done this before?" he asks, with more than a hint of suspicion.

"Watch and learn." Okay, I simply couldn't resist saying that out loud this time around. Well, what was the alternative? 'Hasn't everyone – except you?' I'm trying to be nice here, after all. It's not my fault if Deeks doesn't have the faintest idea about electrics. "Hold that for me, please."

The next thing I know, Deeks lets this out a strangled yelp and I damn near have a heart attack as he jerks convulsively.

"Oh my God. Deeks!" For about five seconds, I honestly think I've handed him a live wire and I can't help thinking about how that, on top of the zapping I gave him earlier on, could have been pretty nasty. Okay – it could actually have given him a heart attack. Only it hasn't. More's the pity.

He gives me that disarming grin. "Not quite so funny now, when someone gets shocked, is it?"

Is it my imagination, or does he sound ever so slightly bitter? I'd never pegged Deeks for a sore loser, but I decide it's safest not to say anything and concentrate on rewiring the circuits. It's not really that difficult, you know. If you have the knack. Which I do.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Deeks asks curiously. Now, I could be wrong (only I bet I'm not) but there sounds to be just the slightest hint of condescension in his voice, like he doesn't think I can actually do this. It's just bad timing on his part that at the moment Deeks has finished speaking coincides almost exactly with the point at which I over-ride the system.

"And we're in!" Okay, I couldn't resist that slight note of triumph. I am only human, after all, and sometimes Deeks just gets to me. Like this morning, when he implied I couldn't take Sam in a fair fight. Which is probably why I can't resist rubbing it in slightly. "I hot wired a Cessna once." That is boasting – I know it is. But come on – it's one heck of a cool thing to be able to say.

"Why?" Deeks looks genuinely perplexed. He also manages to look as hot as hell at the same time, which is no mean feat, believe you me. "Seriously? Why would you need to hotwire and airplane?"

Did I say I needed to hotwire it? I don't believe I fact, I know I didn't. I hotwired the Cessna for one reason, and one reason only: because I could. It was as simple as that. Someone needs to show Deeks how to have fun. I might just be available for that little job. I could show Detective Deeks a thing or two. I could show him things that would make his hair curl… more. Because he's got curly hair. Really cute, curly hair. I might have mentioned that once or twice.

Inside the house, we don't find anything suspicious at all, except numerous examples of conspicuous consumerism and a fridge that contains virtually no food, but loads of vitamin water and various prescription drugs. But then that's pretty much standard for this neighbourhood.

"Dr Russell's affiliated with the Malibu Medical Spa," Deeks announces eventually.

"What's that?"

"Only the most exclusive post-operative surgery centre, where privacy and discretion are of the utmost importance."

How can he know so much about it? Is it possible that Deeks has had some work done? I always thought that seemingly casual surfer look was just a little too good to be true. Nobody looks that good without a little help, do they? Not even Deeks. And then I realise he's just reading from a leaflet.

"Wouldn't that be a great place for someone to hideout?" I suggest.

Now, considering that Gillian saw Barnes killed right in front of her this morning, that actually sounds quite likely. And when we hear that the guys have found her husband lying dead in his office, we know that she is running scared. I can't blame her.

"Malibu, here we come!" Deeks says happily. He'll be smiling on the other side of his face when he realises that this means Hetty is going to insist on personally supervising his wardrobe choices yet again.

* * *

><p>"What's this?" Deeks comes out of the changing cubicle, holding a shirt out in front of him. He's bare-chested, and I can feel my heart leap painfully in my own chest at that sight. Dear God in heaven, but the man has a body to die for. I keep forgetting just how good he looks, how utterly irresistible he is when half-naked. He might look even better completely naked, but as I've yet to see the evidence, I'll have to pass on that. For the time being. Just until I can comment from an informed point of view. But I'm guessing he looks like sex on a stick. A big stick.<p>

"It's a shirt, Mr Deeks." If Hetty sounded any drier, she would be the verbal equivalent of the Sahara Desert.

"It's deformed."

For once, Deeks is not wrong. In fact, he's quite garment has this peculiar sort of puckered effect all over the front, like someone used too hot an iron on it or something.

"That is a perfectly good designer shirt. And you are going to be wearing it." Hetty folds her arms across her chest, and just for good measure she then folds her mouth in a flat line to match. Uncompromising is not the word. Terrifying is more like it. You mess with Hetty at your peril.

"I could just wear a plain white shirt," Deeks offers. He really doesn't know when to give up, does he? Nobody wins with Hetty and her wardrobe choices. Just ask Callen. He's given up even trying to protest.

"No, you couldn't. Not while you are working for me." Hetty doesn't say anything more, but from the look on her face we both know that if Deeks doesn't put on the shirt willingly, then she will literally stuff him into it. And then, if he is very unlucky, she will insist on tucking the shirt into his pants. While he is in them.

Deeks looks incredulous (he actually does that very well, I must admit) and then retreats back into the cubicle without another word.

"You have to let them know exactly who is in charge, Ms Blye," she says sagely. Never was a truer word spoken. It's just that Deeks keeps catching me unawares, that's all. I just never seem to know where I am with him, you see. I know where I'd like to be with Deeks though. And what's more, I know exactly what I'd like to do to him. Put it this way, there would be no tasers involved and I'll leave the rest to your imagination.


	30. Anonymous: Part II

Suffice to say that Deeks re-emerges wearing the Hetty-approved outfit. Even if he is accessorising it with a pained expression.

"She's got no taste at all, does she?" he whispers.

"Absolutely none." It's an open secret, after all. Everybody knows that. Except Hetty. And possibly Callen. I look great, with this wide belt cinching my waist in, and if you really must know the truth, Deeks doesn't look too bad either. Except for the shirt. Of course, I could just rip it off him. That would work much better. What a pity I have so much self-restraint. Too much self-restraint for my own good I sometimes think.

* * *

><p>"I'm your manager," I announce when we arrive at the spa, which just screams 'you need to more money than taste to even think about coming in here'. How I would love to manage Deeks… he wouldn't know if he was coming or going, but I can guarantee that he would love every single minute of it. I bet I'd have fun too. However, I really do have to keep my mind on the job. Only I've said 'really' again, haven't I? It's like he is leeching his way into my consciousness, little by little. And I'm letting him. I'm not putting up the slightest resistance, am I? "You were in a boy band and now you need some work done before you make a comeback."<p>

"I was the lead singer, wasn't I? The one all the girls scream over and have my poster on their walls?" Deeks strikes a pose: shoulders back, head turned slightly to one side and hips firmly thrust forward. He's disturbingly good at that, like he's modelled for an underwear catalogue or something. Now, that would be a best-seller…

Once upon a time, I was one of these little girls. With me it was the Backstreet Boys. Donnie was my favourite. He still is, only now he comes second to Deeks. I'm sorry, Donnie – but I've grown up and moved on. But you'll always be my first love.

"Don't be ridiculous. You were the drummer. The one nobody notices. It's typecasting, given that slight hump you're developing."

"I don't have a hump." Nevertheless, he cranes his neck around, just to check, as we go in through the doors. Keep them on their toes, that's my motto. Only then I drop the ball. Just when I'm about to launch into my story, Deeks takes over. He launches into this whole story and I just stand there wishing the floor would open and catapult him straight down to hell.

"We're going to need the works here," he announces in ringing tones, pointing to me as if I'm too dumb to speak for myself. Excuse me, Deeks, but I don't think they heard you way over in Pasadena. "Probably a booty lift, a tummy tuck, micro-lipo to the hips. Basically, we're going to need an overhaul to the whole undercarriage here."

What did he just say there? My ass is great. I know it's great and Deeks definitely knows it's great. He saw exactly how great it is this morning in the gym. Didn't he? Do I need to get myself some new leggings? Has the lycra started to go? Please tell me my ass isn't starting to sag? Somehow, I manage to resist the temptation to check, but it's not easy. In fact, it is only slightly less difficult than restraining myself from punching my partner right where it really hurts.

As if that opening salvo wasn't enough, Deeks continues babbling on. Does he know he's only got minutes left to live? "And then we'll deal with the head. Do the nose – again. And hopefully get it right this time."

Now, that is rich, coming from a man with nostrils the size of the Grand Canyon. Can you get a nostril reduction? Or should I just wrap duct tape over his nose and mouth? I will get my revenge one day, no matter how long I have to wait.

"And then we'll do the ears."

I am not listening anymore. My ears do not stick out. Well, not much. And Deeks is a fine one to talk. Don't think I don't know that's why he keeps his hair long and drapes it cunningly in front of his ears – it's protective camouflage, that's what it is. But it doesn't fool me. However, I am a professional, so I stand there and take all this abuse with a smile on my face. It's a fixed smile, but it is a smile. Deeks will be smiling on the other side of his face by the time I'm finished with him.

The receptionist doesn't bat an eyelid at all, even though Deeks is clearly talking absolute nonsense. I bet she's jealous of me.. On the other hand, I'm almost certain I saw her slip Deeks her number, so maybe she's just desperate? Or in need of new contacts?

The nurse giving us a guided tour happens to mention that they have a special liquid diet, prepared by a Beverley Hills chef. This place gets more ridiculous by the minute.

"Kiki loves a liquid diet," Deeks says cheerfully. "Actually, that's her problem. One of her problems, I should say. Booze. Drugs. Sex. You name it: she's into it. You wouldn't believe the trouble we had hushing up that sex tape she made. It wasn't so much the full frontal nudity, but the whole stuff with the malamute. That really got people wound up."

That's it. He's gone too far this time. I smack him on the arm, as hard as I possibly can, making sure I hit him right on the taser burn. Sure, it's petty, but it's actually a hell of a lot less than he deserves. Hanging is too good for Deeks. A sex tape? Me? And with a malamute? What is a malamute exactly and is it as rude as it sounds? I'm just about to say something that will put Deeks firmly in his place once and for all, when who should we spot but the elusive Gillian? Okay, my revenge can wait. I entice the nurse away and leave Deeks to do his bit, i.e. grabbing hold of her.

That was a mistake. A huge mistake. The next time I see Deeks, he is barely recognisable. And he can barely see either. I'm not going to go into what happened, but let's just say there were half naked women and lots pepper spray was involved. Talk about karma. That's the least he deserved after what he said about me. Now who's the one in need of some plastic surgery? On the downside - Gillian is long gone.

"I can't take you anywhere, can I?" At least I've had the tact to wait until we're back in the car before I say this. I'm driving, of course, on account of the fact Deeks can't manage to open his eyes and just sits there, whimpering in a pathetic manner, clearly designed to evoke the maximum amount of sympathy from me. And it's working, although I'm doing my best no to show it. "Do you know how much grovelling I had to do to persuade them not to press charges against you? They thought you were a peeping Tom." I'm trying very hard not to look at him, on account of the fact he looks grotesque.

"I told them I was a police officer."

"Well, that worked well for you, didn't it?" I say sympathetically and then sneak another look at him. "That looks sore."

"Sore? No, not really. Not compared with putting your face into a pan of boiling oil." Deeks forces one eye open and I can't help wincing when I see how bloodshot it is. "It was pepper spray, Kensi. She used a whole can on me."

"I know. I can smell it." I lean my head over and sniff. "It's all over your shirt. And it's never going to come out. You've ruined that shirt and Hetty is going to kill you." Which will save me the effort.

"What about my face?"

"What about it?" This is one time when I am definitely not going to offer to kiss him better, on account of the fact his face is all red and blotchy. It is definitely not the best look Deeks has ever modelled. "I guess Hetty's not going to get her deposit back when she returns you to LAPD looking like that, is she?"

"I should have known it was too much to expect just a little bit of sympathy. Or support." Deeks leans back against the headrest and sighs. "Go on. Just have a good laugh at me and get it out of your system. Or maybe take some photos to show everyone. You could post them on your Facebook page, for maximum humiliation."

"Or we could swing by the hospital? Just to be on the safe side?"

"Don't strain yourself. I'll live. I might be half-blind and facially scarred, but I'll survive."

Men are so pathetic, aren't they? Only it does look painful. "We're going to the hospital, Deeks. So don't bother pretending to be brave and long-suffering."

"You've really got the tender touch, haven't you Kensi?"

Oh, he has no idea how tender my touch could be. None at all.

"This is me being nice, Deeks. Which you don't deserve. Not after the way you went on about my ass."

"What did I say about your ass?" he protests and forces both his eyes open. I try not to cringe. "You've got a great ass. It's one of the things I like best about you."

One of the things? What else does he like? And does that mean there are bits of me he doesn't like? Which bits exactly? I need to know. "You're leering at me, Deeks, aren't you? Stop it right now. And if my ass is so great, how come you went on about me needing a booty lift? Or saying that my whole undercarriage needed work? You made me sound like a car. It was insulting."

"It was the ears, wasn't it? That's what you're upset about."

"I am not upset about my ears. There is nothing wrong with my ears."

The silence in the car is defeaning.

"There is nothing wrong with my ears," I repeat, very slowly and very clearly. "They do not stick out, do they Deeks?"

"Not that much. Are we nearly there yet?"

Why do I get landed with a partner who has all the tact, diplomacy and emotional maturity of a six year old? And why does he have to be so darn cute? Answers on a postcard please, and send them to me, care of the locked ward of the psych wing, because Deeks is going to drive me completely mad. And whether that is mad as in insane, or just mad with lust is anybody's guess.

"You do realise that once you can see again, I am going to get you back for every single thing you said back there, don't you?"

He manages a half-smile. "I wouldn't expect anything less. And I can't wait." The smile turns into a leer.

"Stop right there. We both agreed that we are not discussing your kinky fantasies. Ever."

"I don't remember that. Was there a memo? Oh no, wait a minute. That's no good. On account of the fact I can't actually see t read anything right now."

"Seriously?" I nearly smack right into this Escalade that's dawdling along and have to break sharply, sending Deeks hurtling forward until the seatbelt stops him.

"Great. Just add a broken collarbone to the list of my injuries," he says in long suffering tones.

"Seriously, Deeks? It's really broken?" Great. A one-armed, partially sighted Deeks isn't going to be a whole lot of use to us. Hetty is going to kill me.

"No, I'm just a bit sore." He rubs his shoulder and winces, in a brave fashion.

"And what about your eyes. You can't see? Not at all?" This isn't good. Not good at all.

"I didn't say that. I can see, it's just kind of blurry. But it's nice to know you care."

"I don't care. Not at all. And it was your own fault anyway. I just don't want to be stuck with a partner who uses a seeing eye dog and pees all over his shoes."

"You care," Deeks says smugly. "And I only pee over my shoes when I'm really drunk."

And you wonder why I rue the day Marty Deeks walked into my life?

* * *

><p>After a brief detour at the hospital, where the nurses make an inordinate amount of fuss over Deeks (who sits there and laps it up) and then patch him up, we head back to the Mission. I must say, the man seems to have remarkable powers of healing. It's either that or they gave injected him with something pretty powerful, because already his eyes are a lot less swollen and his face is losing that blotchiness.<p>

"It's my Norwegian heritage," he says, a propos of nothing.

"What is?"

"The ability to heal quickly. This ivory skin can take a battering, but it just keeps coming on back and looking as good as new. I guess it was all these years we were roaming the seas – all that fresh air and sunshine."

"Or maybe it was the whale blubber your ancestors smeared all over themselves?" Deeks loves to go on about this supposed Norwegian heritage of his. I don't believe a word of it. Although I could see him standing on the prow of a long ship, now you come to mention it. As well as not being too averse the odd bit of drunken revelry. But I am not going to give him the satisfaction of saying that. "Is that why you're always so bothered about slathering on sunscreen? Some sort of throwback to the good old days?"

"You have skin this good – you don't abuse it."

I am tempted to abuse Deeks, only I think he would like it. No, actually I am almost certain he would definitely enjoy it. Perhaps even as much as I would. So I hold my tongue and concentrate on getting us back to the Mission in one piece. You wouldn't believe the fuss Deeks made at the hospital over what is a fairly small bruise from his seatbelt. It's no more than eight inches long. And that talk of possible whiplash was ridiculous. I reckon it was just a ploy to get more sympathy from the nurses. That, and the opportunity to whip his shirt off, so they could see the evidence at first hand and then coo over his impressive pecs. One of the nurses even had the cheek to take me aside and give me a lecture about the importance of always being alert when driving. I told her that I am an excellent driver, which is nothing less than the truth. It's hardly my fault if having Deeks sitting next to me is distracting.

Once we're finally back at base, I keep a firm grip on Deeks' arm, because he's got this unfortunate tendency to dawdle along. Callen said later on that I looked like a mother dragging along a recalcitrant toddler, but I reckon he's just sore about what I said earlier on.

"What about Gillian?" he asks.

"I found her. Deeks lost her." And then I haul Deeks off to the showers before he can say anything. That pepper spray really stinks.

When we finally make it into Ops, it turns out that things have been moving on considerably. The team's identified our four men as being members of a terrorist cell originally operating out of Mogadishu, who are into MME – as in Murder, Money-laundering and Extortion. They sound charming. No wonder Gillian is running scared. There's just one problem – we have no idea what these guys look like right now, or what they might be planning. But there are a couple of leads we can follow up. Eric and Nell have managed to track down a likely address for one of the terrorists, and they've also located a long-time buddy of Gillian's, who might just be able to tell us where she is. Do you want to guess which team gets which assignment?

"One of these days Hetty might actually trust us."

We're on our way to the friend's house. Deeks looks at me sideways. Now that he's showered and changed, he looks almost normal again. By which I mean he looks good enough to eat. "She trusts us."

"You think? Then how come we get the mundane, run-of-the mill jobs and they get all the prime, seat-of-the–pants numbers? In exotic locations."

"Because they're the senior agents?" he suggests.

"So it's got nothing to do with the fact that they're both guys?" This has been bugging me for ages.

"I'm a guy," Deeks points out, wholly unnecessarily. Like I hadn't noticed that vital fact. It's not like I was labouring under the illusion that he was just a girl with an unfortunate excess of facial hair, after all.

"I know. And you've got the misfortune to be working with me. Just think – if I was 'Ken', then it might have been you and me out in the Grand Cayman Islands." That had rankled, really rankled. Sure, it gave Callen 'closure', but there was a distinct possibility he might have gone and blown everything all over again, given his personal connection with the suspect. Plus there was the fact that he and Sam weren't exactly on the best of terms at them time, which is a less-than-ideal situation for partners to find themselves in. We should have been sent out there. Sun, sea – and Deeks and me. My mouth waters at that thought.

"I'd rather be here in LA with you, than be anywhere else with 'Ken'. And it wasn't so bad, was it?"

"The ice cream was good," I admit. And that almost-kiss was even better. A real kiss would be better still. We've never talked about what almost happened: not one single word. I wonder why?

"Wasn't it just? Maybe we should do it again?" Deeks isn't talking about ice cream, is he?

Maybe we should. And the next time, maybe we should make sure we're not going to get interrupted, just so that things can reach their natural consummation? I don't say any of that, of course. If I did, that would ruin everything. It was nice of Deeks to say that he'd rather work with me than a guy, but it doesn't mean anything. I know he likes me, but what I don't know is if he _really_ likes me - as in likes me in the way a guy likes a girl. That time with the ice cream when we almost kissed wasn't planned – it just happened. It was one of these things that we are never going to recapture. The moment came and the moment went and nothing happened in between. And nothing's happened since. Absolutely nothing.

"We're here now."

We're at our destination and it's time to get out and start doing what we get paid for, which means I don't have to think about any of this stuff anymore. Not until I'm alone, and get to wondering 'what if'… What if we had actually kissed? I think about that a lot. I think about what it would be like to kiss Deeks and what it would be like to have Deeks kiss me. I think it would probably be kind of great. And I think that I'm probably never going to find out.

"I can think of one very good reason why we should get sent out to the Caymans next time," Deeks offers, as we walk up the path.

"Go on then." He's going to tell me anyway, so I may as well get it over with.

"Because you look one hell of a lot better in a bikini that Callen ever would. You've got a great rack and you know it. And the rest of you is pretty decent. Apart from those ears, of course."

Deeks is smirking and I punch him on his sore arm once again. But it's a light punch, the sort of punch that good friends give when they're sharing a joke.


End file.
